A Life that Matters
by Agnes Robinson
Summary: AU: Begins in 1917 and explores Sybil and Tom's early years together in England and Ireland and parts of his background. Sub-characters show up including the Drakes and Evelyn Napier plus a few new ones. Please follow and review.
1. Sounds in the Night

Sounds in The Night

Tom Branson awoke with a start. A shuffling and grating sound was coming from the downstairs of the chauffeur's cottage he occupied on the grounds of Downton Abbey. He listened for a minute and there it was again. He pulled on his trousers and pushed the suspenders up over his shoulders. His bare feet made little sound on the wooden stairs as he made his way down the stairs. He pushed open the door that separated the stairwell from the main living area as quietly as he could.

He could just make out a figure dressed in white standing by the corner of the cabinets. The dim moonlight coming in from the window was just enough that he could make out the long dark hair and unmistakable figure of Lady Sybil Crawley doing something on the counter of his small kitchen.

"Lady Sybil, what are you doing here?" he questioned.

There was no answer. He moved further into the kitchen to see she had taken all of the dishes from the cabinets and was stacking them in neat piles on the counters. As he approached she took a cup and saucer from the stacks and started to move towards the kitchen table. Her eyes were open but she looked straight through Tom as though he wasn't there. She pulled out a chair and sat with the cup and saucer on the table in front of her with her head tilted to one side. Tom waved his hand up and down in front of her face to see if there was any response. She continued to sit at the table staring straight to the front.

"Sleep walking," he mumbled. He rubbed a hand over his face then stood watching her while he decided what to do. He realized Sybil must have walked across the grounds barefoot and wearing only her nightdress to get into his kitchen. It was late spring of 1917. The nights weren't terribly cold anymore but the ground was covered with dew by mornings and the air was still chilly. If anyone found her in his quarters or spotted her arriving there would be hell to pay whether he had invited her there or not.

Sybil suddenly stood and walked straight towards him. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips. Tom was stunned. He had dreamed of kissing Sybil Crawley since the first day he met her, but not like this. He allowed himself to kiss her back but only briefly.

"Have a good day at work, darling," she said as she stepped back. She was standing in her dream trance not moving with her arms still around his neck.

"You should go back to bed," Tom said to her quietly after he had regained his composure.

Sybil nodded in reply but made no move, just continued to stand in the middle of his kitchen. Tom gently removed her arms from around his neck. He grabbed a jacket from a peg by the door and pulled on a pair of work boots not bothering to tie the laces. He had no idea how he was going to get her back to the main house and into her room, but he had to give it a shot.

"Let me help you get back to bed," he said softly. He didn't want to wake her and embarrass her. He decided the best course of action was to get her back to the main house and into her room undetected if he could. He put his arm around her to guide her to the door but she didn't move. Finally after three failed attempts to get Sybil Crawly to move, he put his arm under her knees and lifted her into his arms. He pulled her close against him for a moment. Her arms stole around his neck and her head rested against his shoulder as her eyes drifted shut and she fell into a deep sleep.

He made his way across the grounds to the servants' entrance at the main house. He tried the door only to find out it was locked.

"Oh great," he muttered. It was a good thing Sybil wasn't heavy he thought or he would have dropped her by now. Tom took a deep breath and headed around the house to the front door. The one door was standing ajar from when Sybil had left the house he suspected. He pulled the door open and maneuvered his way inside with Sybil still in his arms. He knew were the staircase was from his numerous trips to the library and headed towards it. The clock in the great hall was striking three as he carried her up the stairs to the landing. He had no idea which room was hers. Luckily no one was about at this hour of the night. If anyone caught him standing on the landing with the Earl's youngest daughter in his arms with them both half dressed, he would be sacked on the spot. He would have no chance of ever wooing Lady Sybil or finding a decent job in the future.

"Sybil. Where's your room?" he whispered into her ear. It was worth a try even if she was asleep.

"Upstairs, with the mushrooms," she mumbled back against his shoulder. Clearly she wasn't going to be any help.

Tom looked both ways down the corridor when he finally saw what he thought was an open door. He moved towards it and was relieved to see a rumpled bed through the opening. He moved into the room and pushed the door almost shut behind him. He set Sybil down on the bed and disengaged her arms from around his neck. She crawled back under the covers and curled in a ball. Tom reached down and pulled the blankets over her. Then kissed her on the temple.

"Sleep well, love," he murmured before he headed for the door. A quick look up and down the hall confirmed no one was moving about. He dashed out the room and made a quick exit back out the door he had entered.

Tom's heart was racing as he jogged back across the grounds to the chauffeur's residence. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath once he got back inside and closed the door. That wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon, although he wouldn't mind kissing Sybil Crawley in the light of day when she was wide awake.


	2. Berries

Berries

Sybil's shift at the hospital started at six. She had set an alarm for four forty-five to allow her enough time to have breakfast, get ready and travel to the small hospital in the village where she would put in a twelve-hour shift. This morning she clicked off the alarm and rolled to her back. Something felt odd around her lower legs and ankles. She threw back the covers to see her feet covered in a fine layer of mud and the bottom four inches of her nightdress was damp. She regarded her feet and nightdress with a frown. She would have to speak to Anna about improving the cleaning in her room if her feet were getting dirty form the carpets. Right now she needed to get dressed, have breakfast and get out the door if she didn't want to be late.

Branson was waiting with the car for her promptly at five forty-five.

"Good morning, Branson," she said as he handed her into the car.

"Lady Sybil," he replied. At this hour of the morning Mr. Carson was not at the door and there were no footmen in attendance. Tom looked directly at her as he helped her into the motor. His face this morning was full of merriment and he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any second. Sybil didn't see what was so humorous about driving to the hospital at this hour of the morning. She took her seat for the ten-minute ride to the hospital and tried her best to ignore him.

When they arrived at the hospital Branson hopped down from the driver's seat and had the door open before Sybil could reach for the handle.

"Thank you, Branson," she murmured as she stepped down from the motor.

"Have a good day at work," he said with a smirk.

He hadn't said the word "darling" but it hung in the air between them as though he had said it for the entire world to hear. Sybil looked at him with a frown, snapped her mouth shut and headed inside.

"Err," she growled as she reached the door. All that man had to do was look at her and the hair on her arms stood on end. Didn't he understand the situation he was placing her in? How could he ask her to run off with him, possibly never to see her family again? He had the ability to take her to the heights of happiness or the depths of despair with only a glance and few words. Her emotions were such a tangle when it came to that man that it was better not to think about it. There were patients in the hospital and more work to do than could be accomplished in a single day. By evening she was tired, more tired than on an average day. She fell into bed that night exhausted and dreading the repeat performance that she knew would occur on the morrow.

It had been two weeks since Sybil's nocturnal visit to the chauffeur's cottage and Tom was resting easier. For the first week after Sybil's sleep walking visit he had woken at every small sound he heard wondering if it was her wandering around the estate again. Today he had been busy from sun up till after dusk and he was tired. He climbed into bed and fell asleep quickly only to be woken in the middle of the night by the sound of someone moving about downstairs.

Tom jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers. When he arrived downstairs he found Sybil Crawley repeatedly opening and closing the door to the broom closet. In the pale light he could see she was quite annoyed at something. Tom moved closer and lightly touched her arm. It was enough for Sybil to turn away from the closet and head for an armchair in the room. Sybil perched herself on the side of the armchair. Her expression and demeanor were what he imagined she looked like sitting in a drawing room. He had heard that it was dangerous to wake someone who was sleepwalking. Tom had no idea why but he thought it was probably best to let whatever Sybil's dreams were guiding her to play out.

After ten minutes or so, Sybil rose and took a few steps across the room.

"That went better than I thought it would," she said with a slight laugh in her voice. "I always knew my family would love you as much as I do." She stopped in the middle of the room as though she were listening to someone's reply. "I like strawberries."

Tom shook his head and laughed slightly. The thoughts and statements she made in her sleep didn't seem to have a logical progression. He knew she would be embarrassed beyond belief if she ever realized that she had shown up here twice in her sleep. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he realized Sybil was undoing the buttons at the neckline of her nightdress. Before he knew it she had let it drop to the floor. Tom's mouth went dry. He couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful and God help him he wanted her, but not like this. He picked up her nightdress and moved to touch her arm.

"Did you move my hairbrush, darling?" Sybil said. "I can't seem to find it anywhere."

Tom thought it best to play along and perhaps he could get her redressed and headed back to the Abbey.

"I've brought you your nightdress. Would you like to put it on?" he said softly.

"Only if you find me some strawberries," she said.

"I'll give you a kiss instead if you put your nightdress on," he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, very well then," Sybil said as she slid her arms around his neck and placed her mouth against his. Her bare breasts squashed against his chest and Tom took a deep breath before he kissed her back. What the hell, he thought as he allowed his hands to move across her back and down to her bare hips. He would have liked to explore more, but if she woke up, he would be finished at Downton and with her. When Sybil finally pulled back from the kiss he managed to get the nightgown he was still holding tightly clenched in one hand over her head and gently moved each hand in turn through the sleeves.

"It's time to go back to bed," he whispered.

Sybil remained standing in the middle of the room. Her eyes were closed and she made no movement. Tom picked her up in his arms and headed back towards the Abbey. Sybil curled herself against him as she had done previously. He headed straight for the front doors hoping they would be open as before. Tom made his way as quickly as he could to Sybil's room and deposited her back into bed. Sybil tightened her arms around his neck and he almost fell on top of her.

"Sybil you have to let go," he choked out.

"I love you," she mumbled in her sleep.

"I love you, too, now let go of me."

"Never," she said as she pulled him in even tighter.

Tom braced himself with one arm on either side of her body. How they devil was he going to extricate himself from the death grip she had on his neck. It was uncomfortable in the extreme and he couldn't stay like this indefinitely.

"Kiss me," he whispered to her.

"Mmm." Sybil's arms finally loosened from around his neck as she placed her lips against his again. Tom returned her kiss and once he felt her body relax pulled back and made a hasty retreat from the Abbey. By the time he got back to his cottage it was almost four in the morning.

Sybil stretched when she awoke that morning and threw back the covers. She went to the washroom to get cleaned up and glanced at her self in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She suddenly looked down and realized her nightdress was on inside out. Her feet were dirty and there was a small scratch on the side of her foot. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. This didn't make sense and she certainly had not put her nightdress on inside out last night. This was a mystery but she had to get to the hospital and there was little time to find the answer.

That afternoon Branson showed up at one with her lunch. Her mother had been sending him to the hospital daily with a lunch for her. It annoyed Sybil no end but she couldn't blame the man. He was only following orders. The second time he had shown up with her lunch he had returned her anger with his own.

"Look," he said. "I was told to bring you your lunch and make sure you eat it. Do you think I like playing nursemaid to a grown woman?"

She had finally acquiesced and taken him to the garden behind the hospital. Sybil insisted he sit with her on a bench rather than stand waiting for her to eat. Branson had been her best friend for almost three years before his proposal and sitting with him in the garden they fell back into an easy camaraderie of conversation about current events.

Today was a warm day and they found a bench in the shade before Sybil opened the basket. On the top of the lunch was a small bowl of strawberries.

"Oh strawberries," she sighed as she spotted them. "I've been craving strawberries this last while. I wonder how Mrs. Patmore knew."

Branson just shrugged and looked up to watch the clouds in the sky. Sybil picked up the first berry, took a bite and allowed her eyes to drift shut while she savored the flavor. The berry was still warm from the field and dead ripe. She opened her eyes and realized Branson was watching her with the look of longing he sometimes had. She averted her gaze to the basket and reached for another berry when she realized the bowl was not the china variety she would normally receive with her lunch. It was made of crockery and would most likely be from the servants' hall or even possibly… the chauffeur's cottage. Sybil's movements stilled while she stared at the bowl. The berries were fresh. So fresh they would have to have been picked on the way here.

"You did this, didn't you?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The berries. You picked them for me didn't you?"

Branson just shrugged again and returned to watching the clouds.

"Thank you."

He still didn't look at her or even reply. Sybil lifted the small bowl out of the basket and retrieved the sandwich. She handed Branson the sweet that she knew he liked but was too much for her lunch. Most days she gave him the sweet and relished watching him savor the fancy cakes and pastries that she had no room for. After she ate her sandwich there were still two berries left. She took one and held it to his lips. His eyes were watching her as he slowly opened his mouth and accepted the berry. Her fingers brushed his lips and she pulled her hand back quickly.

Sybil's heart was racing and she felt the color spreading up her cheeks. She had no idea what had prompted her to act in such a bold manner. She quickly devoured the last berry and handed him the basket before she turned and fled back inside. Tom had a smirk on his face as he watched her run away like a frightened rabbit.

"I like strawberries, too," he murmured to her retreating back. He shook his head with a slight laugh before he clapped his hat back on his head and headed off to do the rest of his duties for the day.


	3. Passages

Passages

It had been decided that Downton Abbey would be used as a convalescent home for as long as needed and the staff was in a flurry of activity moving furniture and setting up beds. Being so close to Sybil all day was both pleasure and torture for Tom. He couldn't get enough of watching her at her work and at the same time he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn't breath. It wasn't long before the convalescing officers began to arrive and the house was a hive of activity. Sybil was now assigned to the Abbey and the need to see to her lunch was ended.

A week had passed since the convalescents had arrived when Tom was awoken yet again by someone moving about downstairs in his residence. This time Sybil was moving the kitchen chairs about and mumbling under her breath.

"How in the devil did you get out of that house full of people?" he questioned.

He went to stand beside Sybil and gently touched her back.

"it's time for bed," he whispered.

"Company is coming. I can't sleep now," she mumbled in her dream state.

"Not right yet, you need to sleep."

"Tom, do you regret marrying me?"

Tom Branson did a double take. Was she talking to him in her dreams or another man she had met?

"I would never regret it," he said softly. "I love you. I always have."

He slid his arms around her and held her loosely. Sybil relaxed against him and curled her head onto his shoulder. He couldn't carry her back to her own room this time through a house full of officers. He didn't quite know what to do with her. Finally, he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his own bed. She curled in a ball as soon as he laid her down and fell into a deep sleep.

Tom looked at her for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. What the hell was he going to do with Lady Sybil Crawley fast asleep in his bed? He went downstairs for a minute to think things through and clear his head. He stood by the basin for a bit and looked out the window before he headed back upstairs to wake her up. There was no way he could ever get her back to the house undetected.

"Sybil," he said quietly while he shook her shoulder. "Sybil, wake up." She groaned and rolled over but didn't wake up. "Sybil you have to wake up. You can't stay here all night."

Finally her eyes fluttered open.

"Branson, what are you doing in my room?" she demanded.

"More like what are you doing in my room," he replied. "You've been sleepwalking."

Sybil sat up and looked around the darkened room. Her hands flew to her cheeks in embarrassment.

"How did I get here?"

"I'm not sure how you got out of the house with all the people in it. This isn't the first time you've done this. I've always managed to get you back without anyone noticing, but I didn't know how this time."

"I haven't… We haven't?"

"No. Nothing's happened. You were walking in your sleep. You show up and I carry you back. That's all." It was only a slight lie. How do you tell someone they were snogging you like mad in their sleep?

"Oh, I'm so embarrassed," Sybil said into her hands.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I can't figure out how you got out this time."

"I think I know. I'll show you so if this ever happens again you can send me back. Please, please don't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I won't tell a soul. I wouldn't have woken you if I could have figured out a way to get you back."

Sybil had crawled out of his bed and was waiting for him to lead the way out of his quarters. Tom grabbed a dark jacket and stuffed on a pair of boots by the door. He gave her a long dark coat to cover her nightdress.

"No use attracting more attention than we have to," he said.

They headed across the lawns and stopped by a tangle of bushes beside the abbey.

"There is an old secret passage that opens near here," Sybil told him. "The other wall was built later so there is a space between the wall of the original building and this wall."

Behind the bushes was a narrow door that was standing slightly ajar.

"I haven't been through here since I was little," she said.

"You must have come out this way tonight."

Sybil slid in through the door and reached for a candle and matches just inside the door.

"Come on, I'll show you how to get back to my room, incase this ever happens again."

Tom slid in through the narrow door. He was packed in incredibly tight with Sybil and the proximity was making him flush. She headed up the narrow stairs. In spots he had to turn sideways to get through. After what seemed like a long time of climbing they came to a narrow passage. They followed the passage for a minute and turned a corner. Sybil set the candle on a small ledge and showed him where to press on the brick to get the door to open. A small door popped open at knee height.

"It comes out behind the drapes in my room. Promise me you'll never use this unless you absolutely have to."

"I promise. Lady Sybil?"

"Yes, what is it," Sybil was impatient to extricate herself from an embarrassing position and return to her room. She turned to look at him and saw that same pleading in his eyes she had seen a hundred times before.

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight." Again she could hear the unspoken darling behind his statement. Sybil quickly ducked down and went through the door clicking it shut behind her.

"Lie to yourself all you like," he said into the passage. "One day you will admit it."


	4. Anger

Anger

Over the summer Sybil had shown up twice more in the middle of the night in sleep walking episodes. Tom had decided to let her sleep on the small sofa in his living room and allow her to return to the Abbey on her own both times. She had repeatedly kissed him and told him how much she loved him in her sleep. It was becoming increasingly evident to him that she truly was in love with him although she was much too frightened of her family's reaction to admit it yet. Tom's upset over her lack of response to his proposal was hurtful beyond belief. He wanted to strike back, to humiliate Sybil and her family who he saw as the cause of his despair.

One day she stopped by to chat with no particular reason and he asked her outright if she had an answer for him.

"To what?" Sybil replied.

"Do you have an answer for me, for what I asked you in York?"

"Not yet," was all Sybil replied before she hurried away with her head down.

"So you are thinking about it," he said quietly enough so she couldn't hear him as she retreated.

Another day he informed her she was in love with him but too frightened to admit it and another he asked her outright if she loved him. Each time she evaded the question and hurried away. One day in late summer she showed up in the garage while he was reading a letter from home. The news wasn't good and his irritation and anger at the injustices carried out in his homeland on a daily basis were making him bristle.

"What are you reading?" Sybil inquired.

"A letter from home. The news isn't good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Really? What do you care?" he questioned peevishly. His anger was hanging around him like a cloud.

"Why do you have to be so angry all the time?" Sybil shot back.

"Why? Can't you figure it out?" Tom was mad now, really mad. He put one arm on each side of her effectively trapping her against the tool bench. "I asked a girl to marry me and it's been almost a year without an answer. She snogs me senseless in her sleep and the rest of the time..."

Sybil gasped at his words.

"You said nothing had happened."

"I was trying to protect you, but I don't think you care. Do you?"

"Let me go." Sybil's pushed against his arm. She wanted to run away in her embarrassment.

"No. Answer me."

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't."

"Both!"

His anger was getting the better of him. Tom stepped forward and kissed her. Not a soft pleasant kiss, but one that held his anger and torment from the last year. His arms were around her in a tight grip and Sybil was frightened. Had she pushed this man too far. His fists flailed against his arms. As the anger left him and his arms loosened slightly, Sybil began to relax into the sensation and started kissing him back. Her lips parted and she felt his tongue enter her mouth and gently touch hers. Her arms crept around his shoulders. She felt herself pressing into him. Everything she had been hiding from him and her self was there. This wasn't just a casual kiss. He was the other half of her and would be until the day she died.

When the kiss finally ended he kissed the side of her mouth, her cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. He ran his lips along her jaw and finally kissed her again. Sybil felt as though she were drowning in the sensation of being this close to him. There was no conscious thought other than the desire for more of his touch. His grip had loosened and now he held her in a comfortable embrace against his body. He finally pulled back slightly and looked into her face. His mouth remained just inches from hers.

"Do you love me?" he questioned.

Sybil nodded. "I do," she breathed and moved to kiss him again. She had never kissed another man and the sensation was new. So new she couldn't get enough. His lips were firm and soft at the same time. His tongue against hers sent shocks of sensation to her abdomen. He tasted like more. Tom broke the kiss when he heard the click of shoes on the cobblestones coming towards the garage. He quickly went to the door to see who it was. Sybil knew better than to have been caught standing in the garage with her lips swollen from kissing. She went to the back door and let herself out. When Tom finished taking the request for the motor for the afternoon, he returned to the garage to find it empty.

Four weeks went by before Tom saw her again. He knew she was avoiding him. He regretted loosing his temper and had left her a note saying how sorry he was for his actions. He wanted to apologize in person but the opportunity had not presented it'self with a house full of people. Finally he got the opportunity. He had dropped Lord Grantham at the front door when Sybil came outside. When she saw him she turned to go back in. Tom went to her and was careful not to touch her.

"Lady Sybil, may I have a word?" He had taken off his hat and was fiddling with the brim.

"What is it Branson?" she said warily.

"In private."

"I don't think that is such a good idea."

"Well, at least not in front of the door." He was apprehensive and upset.

"Very well then. I'm done with my shift in an hour. Meet me at the bench by the elm tree then." Sybil hadn't looked up during the entire exchange.

Tom just nodded his acceptance. He felt like such a fool for letting his anger push her into an admission she wasn't ready for. He put his hat back on and moved the still running car away from the door and headed back to the garage.

At the appointed time he went to the elm to wait for her. The darkness of his uniform made him blend into the shade under the tree. He stood between the elm and a nearby hedge to avoid the looks of any curious passers by. It wasn't long and Sybil came down the path from the house, still wearing her nursing uniform.

"What did you want to speak to me about?" she asked. She hung back slightly with one arm wrapped around her waist.

"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that I let my temper get the best of me the last time we spoke and beg your forgiveness. I was upset. I know that is no excuse for my actions. I hope you can forgive me." His head was down and his hair hung forward over his face.

Sybil thought she could see the faintest hint of moisture in the corners of his eyes. Love wasn't what she had always thought it would be. It was joy and hurt mixed with pain. With love came the ability of the other to inflict hurt with a glance or wipe it away with a gesture or a few words.

"I forgive you," she said quietly stepping closer and placing her hand on his. "You shocked me. I needed time to think things over, but I don't blame you." She took another half step closer and put her hand on the side of his face. She could see how terribly upset he still was. She stood on her tiptoes and placed a light kiss on his lips.

Tom's arms went around her and pulled her into his embrace. She could feel the suppressed sobs that wanted to break free inside of him. His face was buried in her hair. She tucked her face into his neck and just held him for a moment.

"I thought I'd lost you forever," he said into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. We're fine," Sybil said. "I'm sorry too, for not talking to you sooner." She raised her lips to his and kissed him. He kissed her back so gently there was no question that he had been as torn as she had for the last month. When they finally broke the kiss, Sybil stepped back.

"I have to go," she said with a faint smile. "I'll come and find you tomorrow. We can talk then. Alright?"

Tom nodded his ascent. Placed his hat back on and turned to walk away. He stopped after a few steps and turned back.

"Thank you," he said before he strode off.


	5. Rules

Rules

The next afternoon Sybil showed up in the garage while Tom was under a car. Her shoes clicked on the cement of the floor as she moved to stand near where he was working.

"I wish I knew more about cars," she said.

"I can teach you," Tom said with enthusiasm. "You could learn how to drive."

"Perhaps," she replied shyly.

Tom had decided that he would not pressure her about personal matters when he saw her. He would let her take the lead. His earlier pressuring had almost driven her away. He had been a wreck when he thought she was lost to him. Now it was time to ease back and let Sybil be in control for a while.

"It could be a useful skill, especially after the war if you want to keep working," he said hopefully. "You could drive yourself. It would give you more independence."

"I suppose," Sybil replied. She was blushing slightly and shuffling her feet.

"Come on, let's go for a drive. I'll show you how. It will be fun."

Sybil finally nodded and smiled at him. His enthusiasm was contagious and she felt a thrill at the prospect of trying something new. Tom retrieved the keys and started the car. Today he just wanted to put some distance between them and the Abbey. What better way to do it than under the guise of a driving lesson? They got in the car, made the necessary adjustments to the seat and started with Sybil's first driving lesson. She had a few false starts but did amazingly better than her sister had at getting the car rolling in her first lesson. She managed to get the car up to second gear and was holding the steering wheel in a death grip.

"You need to shift up to the next gear," Tom said.

"Oh, it seems so fast when you are driving."

"Don't worry, I'll help you steer if need be," he said reassuringly and flashing a smile that caused her apprehension to fade into thin air.

Sybil took a deep breath and shifted up to third. It seemed the car was flying down the road. Tom directed her to take one of the lanes that meandered around the estate so she would be away from any traffic on the roads around the village. Sybil was starting to get the hang of driving and glanced at Tom with a huge smile.

"You were right, this is fun," she said.

They drove for about twenty minutes until they came to a hayfield that had been cut and was drying in the sun.

"You can stop here," Tom told her. "I'll turn us around. You can drive back if you like."

Sybil pulled to the side and switched off the engine.

"I didn't mean for you to switch it off," he said.

"I realize that," she said. "Lets go for a walk. It's such a nice day."

They got out of the car and started to walk between the rows of cut hay. Tom left his hat in the car but kept a respectful distance.

"I've been thinking," Sybil finally said, "about us."

"And?" he replied, holding his breath.

"I don't want to loose my family and I don't want you to loose yours either. I don't see how this can work. My family will never accept us and I doubt your people will accept me. I'm sorry, but I just can't see a way."

"It will take time for our families to accept us together. Please don't give up," Tom said. They had stopped walking and stood looking into each other's eyes. "We have something other people don't have. It's more than most base a life together on. It won't be easy but a future together is worth having no matter what the cost."

"Are you so sure of your feelings?" Sybil questioned. "You don't think they'll fade under adversity?"

"How could being with the person you love be an adversity? No one knows the future for sure."

"If I stay with my family, my future is mapped out. If I follow my heart everything is uncertain."

"What can I say to make it right?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we had some plans…we could tell my parents out in the open."

"It might be easier to get married and tell them afterwards. That way it can't be undone."

"What about my work and your work? How would we live?"

"I can find a different job. You can get a job nursing anywhere. I wouldn't stop you. Our life wouldn't be elaborate but we can make our own rules, not the rules that are dictated to us."

"Life has rules Tom."

"Rules that were meant to be broken and made into something new. This war is changing everything. Nothing will ever be the same."

They had taken a seated position on an old stonewall well away from the road.

"There are just so many obstacles," Sybil said looking away across the fields.

"You've given me every logical reason why not to accept me except the one that matters. If you don't love me I will accept your refusal and move on. If you do love me then I beg of you to try. Just try, I know we can do this."

Sybil looked down at the hay around her for a few minutes. Then back at Tom.

"I'll accept you under one condition."

"Which is?"

"You have another job lined up and we have some type of plan. I don't want to run away you with no thought to what we are doing."

"I've given it plenty of thought."

"So have I. For this to work we are going to have to think things through," Sybil sighed.

"Your answer is yes then?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, you are my future come what may."

Tom moved to kiss her, when Sybil stopped him.

"Nothing more than kissing until we are wed."

"For now, God knows it's enough," he murmured against her lips.

They sat on the wall together kissing each other and murmuring endearments. Tom held her close. Sybil marveled at the feel of his strength through their clothes and how free she felt just in her acceptance of her feelings. They stayed like that until they realized it was past teatime and Tom would soon have to go and pick up the Dowager Countess for the evening meal. They headed back with Sybil at the wheel. Tom was right. Driving was fun, Sybil thought and what better way for them to spend time together than by him teaching her to drive. She managed to stop the car in front of the garage before she left him with the promise to return the next day.

Tom's mind was racing with the million things he needed to do to secure another position and how to find out about a marriage license without being too obvious. This wasn't going to be easy. Sybil hadn't come right out and said she loved him in so many words but his heart couldn't help but soar at the promise of what could be.


	6. Lessons

Lessons

The next afternoon, Sybil came to find Tom for her next driving lesson. She had taken special care with her appearance and was excited to see him. When she arrived at the garage the Renault was gone. She checked the chalkboard where he kept the schedule to find he had driven her mother on a shopping trip. Sybil's heart sank. She had been looking forward to seeing him. Since she had agreed to marry him she felt a weight had been lifted off her heart. It would take some planning but she was looking forward to spending time with him.

She had always wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. Her mother would have said her thoughts were most unladylike. When it came to Tom Branson almost every thought Sybil had about him was unladylike. She wondered what lay under his clothes and what it would be like to be with him as man and wife. She had seen lots of naked men in the hospital, but it wasn't the same. Tom was the one she would spend her life with and touch in an intimate way. Now that she had finally admitted her feelings and agreed to marry him, it couldn't happen soon enough.

Sybil wanted to leave a note for Tom so that he would know she had kept her word to meet him today. She didn't see any notepaper or pencils lying on the tool bench. She went through the door that separated the garage from the cottage and passed through a corridor into the kitchen. There was a small table under the window where Tom had his typewriter set up. On it was a stack of plain paper and Sybil went to retrieve a sheet. She couldn't help but glance at the partially typed letter in the machine. The words on the page made her stop.

On the typewriter was a partially typed article on the plight of the wounded once they were released from hospital. It was well written and obviously intended for publication. Sybil knew she was prying, but couldn't help her self. She looked at the other items laid out on the table and gasped slightly. There were at least half a dozen articles laid out on the table, each with notes attached and the names of different papers typed at the top of the pages. As well there was a list of things to do with some letters underneath. Sybil picked up the sheet of paper to see a list of places where Tom planned to apply for work as well as a short list of other errands he wanted to do. Sybil recognized a few of the newspapers on the list Tom had made out. "Newspapers?" she thought to herself. As she went to replace the list where she had found it, she realized the letter now at the top of the same pile was a job offer from a well-known newspaper dated almost a year ago. The next letter on the pile was almost the same. The sum offered with the position was considerably more than he made working for her father Sybil was sure.

"He's been waiting for me," Sybil said to herself. "All this time, he's been waiting." His words of proposal, "I'll make something of myself, I promise," came back to ricochet around her thoughts. If she had any doubt of his sincerity it was banished. He could have made something of himself then as he could now, if only her parents would be able to see it. Her blinders were off and she realized her own prejudice had prevented her from seeing the man Tom really was. He was more than a chauffeur. He was bright, hard working and ambitious. He would never let her go without. A tear slipped down Sybil's cheek. She had been such a fool to make him wait all this time. She heard a noise outside and quickly replaced the papers. She took a sheet of blank paper, quickly wrote out a note and slipped into the garage just as Tom was opening the doors to replace the car into it's stall.

"Sybil?" he said, surprised to see her.

"I was just leaving you a note," she said. She had a small smile on her face as she walked forward to kiss him on the cheek. He gave her a quick peck on the lips. His face was gritty from the drive he had just been on and he left a smug of dirt on the end of her nose.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he said. "Then we can take the other car out."

"You need to wash your face," she said with a slight laugh.

"That I do," he replied. "You can wait for me inside. It's a lot cleaner in there."

"I don't think I should."

"There's less likelihood of someone seeing you inside the cottage than out here. I promise I won't pounce on you," he joked.

Sybil nodded. "Too bad I can't promise I won't pounce on you," she thought.

Tom joined her inside in a few minutes.

"It's a nice cottage," Sybil commented.

"it's much too big for one person," Tom replied. "The man before me was married with children. The only time this cottage is filled up is when there are visiting chauffeurs for hunting parties. I'll just be a minute."

Tom headed off through a series of doors. Sybil wandered to the living room to see what it was like. There were a few worn copies of books on a shelf and others she recognized as from her father's library piled on the arm of one of the chairs. The space was comfortable and clean but lacked the fluff of a woman's touch.

Tom returned in a few minutes freshly shaved. Sybil thought how handsome he was. A shot of pure attraction ran through her, so strong it frightened her a bit.

"Let's go," Tom said holding his hand out to her. Sybil walked forward took his hand and gave him a shy smile. They stood there a minute staring at each other. Tom slowly lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply. Sybil's arms went around him. Her one hand ran up his neck to touch his hair. She didn't want to stop kissing him. She felt strange, as though she was floating, when she realized that Tom had picked her up in his arms and was carrying her. When he set her down she had the uncomfortable sensation of her underwear being wet.

"That's enough of that," he said with a smirk against her lips. "We'll never make it to the wedding night at this rate."

Sybil was a bit embarrassed and bit her bottom lip. She hid her face against his chest for a moment to regain her composure. They were back in the garage standing by the town car.

"I feel so foolish for making you wait so long," she said against him.

"Everything will work out as it should," he said. "Come and I'll show you how to start the car. I still intend to teach you how to drive."

Sybil lifted her eyes to him, smiled and nodded. He gave her another quick peck on the lips before he showed her how to start the car. They got in and Sybil had the car moving in no time. As she pulled out of the yard and shifted up to the next gear with only a mild crunching sound, Tom was giving her directions on how to make the next shift smoother, they spotted her father walking along the road.

"Oh no," Sybil groaned.

"You didn't tell him you were learning to drive?" Tom asked.

"Well, not exactly," Sybil said with a slight frown.

"Not exactly, like NO."

"You could say that," Sybil said as she pulled up and stopped by her father.

"Sybil what in blazes are you doing?" her father demanded.

"Driving lessons, Papa," she replied sweetly. "They could be useful. You never know when I might need to drive."

"You didn't ask my permission. Why wasn't I consulted?"

"You let Edith drive. I didn't think I needed your permission."

Tom was cringing a bit, expecting a tongue lashing from Sybil's father.

"I hope this isn't another of your schemes that ends with the two of you finding trouble."

"Of course not Papa," Sybil said sweetly. "It's just driving lessons."

Lord Grantham ground his teeth slightly. Branson was staring straight ahead, playing the part of the dutiful servant and ignoring his employer's conversation.

"Branson, I expect you to see to my daughter's safety."

"Certainly, milord. We won't be leaving the estate," Tom replied.

"See that you don't," Lord Grantham stated.

"Yes, milord," was all Tom said.

"Oh very well. Carry on then," Sybil's father said when he saw the expectant hopeful look Sybil was giving him.

"Thank you, Papa," she said. Sybil started fiddling with the gearshift trying to get the car back into first. Branson was busy giving her instructions. Lord Grantham watched them for a minute before they drove off. The car seemed to coast for a bit while Sybil switched gears but soon they were driving down the lane, although none too quickly. Branson was being respectful and doing his job, he reminded himself. He hadn't noticed anything unusual in their behavior. When those two were in the same place at the same time, it seemed trouble was always on their heels.


	7. Desire

Desire

Sybil managed to circle the house three times before they headed off down one of the lanes to the back part of the estate. She was improving gradually and with Tom's guidance was not having any problems keeping the car to one side of the road. They passed the hay field where they had been yesterday. Workers were loading the hay onto a cart. They continued on driving until Sybil pulled up by a trail that went into the forest.

"My governess used to bring me here. I haven't been here in years," she said.

Tom got out and went to open her door only to find Sybil already out of the car and waiting for him. He took her hand as they headed down the trail. The forest canopy overhead was cool and here and there glimpses of pasture could be seen between the trees.

"I'm going to send out applications over the next few days," Tom said after a few minutes. "I want to try my luck writing."

"What type of writing?" Sybil replied, not wanting to let on that she had pried into his personal affairs.

"Reporting. I've been writing for a while now in my spare time. I've had pretty good success at it. I can always pick up extra car repairs on the side if need be. I should have something in a few weeks."

Sybil didn't reply right away.

"Where are you thinking of looking?"

"I'd like to go back to Ireland but we can go anywhere you want."

"I have no real preference," Sybil said. "Somewhere where I'm not recognized would most likely be best." They walked a few more minutes before Sybil spoke again. "I know you so well, yet I don't."

"What do you mean?"

"We've talked about everything except how we think our lives will be. Where we want to live, how many children we want. Things like that."

"That's easy. I want to live anywhere that makes you happy. I don't care if it's a flat or a cottage or a fancy house. I'll take as many children as show up. I have no preference."

"You are a funny one. You don't seem to care about the things that other people do and yet you are so passionate about politics and the issues."

"I care about you. Isn't that enough?"

"It is. I only want a few children, maybe one or two. Is that something you can live with?"

"I will love them no matter how many we have. If we only have a few, so be it."

They had come to a spot in the trees that widened out to a pool in the middle of a stream.

"It's a lovely spot," Sybil commented off handedly. She moved to pick up a handful of pebbles and toss them one by one into the stream. Tom came to stand beside her. He pushed a piece of her hair back that had come loose.

"Not as lovely as you," he whispered.

Sybil turned and looked into his face. He was so different than the men she had met in drawing rooms and at shoots. There compliments were so practiced and their smiles so false. Here was a man that wore his heart on his sleeve and held love in his eyes. Sybil swallowed. When he looked at her like that it was all she could do not to melt into his arms.

"Tom, I want…" Her lips were dry and all she could do was to stare into his eyes.

"I know. I want the same thing, but we will wait. It is what you really want, with no regrets. I want to be able to face your father with a clear conscious. It's what you deserve." Sybil nodded against him. While he was speaking he had pulled her into an embrace. Her arms curled around his back and she held him as well.

"I love you," she whispered.

"And I you," he replied. "We should head back, before your father mounts a search party."

Sybil laughed as she pulled back.

"I almost laughed out loud when he accused us of finding trouble," she said.

"If he only knew how close he was to the truth. I almost choked," Tom said with a grin as he took her hand and headed back to the waiting motor.

A few days later, Tom had to drive Lord Grantham to a meeting in York. He had a list of errands to take care of while he waited but they only occupied a third of the time he had to wait. He spotted the county courthouse and went in to inquire about a marriage license. He was surprised when the clerk handed him a flyer listing the different types of marriage licenses and the waiting periods for each.

"We want to get married with the minimum of fuss. What's the best option?" Tom inquired.

"Not exactly approved of are you?" the man behind the desk inquired.

Tom pressed his lips together and didn't reply.

"Your best option is a special license. You only have to wait two weeks. If you're thinking of going to Gretna Green forget it. Scotland has a twenty-one day waiting period. Makes no difference to me, what you choose. You can buy the license today. Doesn't mean you have to use it. You swear out a statement that there are no legal reasons you can't be married and that she is over sixteen. Make an appointment when you want to get married and the judge will do the deed."

Tom pulled out his billfold and paid the fee for the special license. The man had said they didn't have to use it, but then again they would have the option if need be.

"It's valid for one year from today," the clerk said. "If you decide to cancel things come back and it can be voided."

"Thank you, for your help," Tom said before he left.

He had already sent the first two letters of application and had another four planned for next few days. He stopped by a newsvendor that carried out of town papers and picked up a few that he could possibly apply to. He had received a few job offers from his previous articles and was in the process of contacting those leads as well to inquire if there were any openings. He thought about buying Sybil a ring, but decided against it, as she wouldn't be able to wear it anyway.

The next few days he was kept busy running the family to calls and doing errands around the estate. He had managed to get all of the applications into the mail. Now it was a matter of waiting. It was almost six days before Sybil was able to catch up with him one morning. She was working a late shift at the hospital in the village and Tom had no trips booked until afternoon.

"How have you been," Sybil greeted him. She ran up to him and gave him a quick kiss.

"Busy," Tom said. He was happy to see her and had a lot he wanted to tell her. "Let's go for a drive."

Sybil nodded happily. He started the town car and she hopped in behind the wheel.

"I hope I haven't forgotten everything," she said. She raced the engine a little too much when they were taking off but once she had the car moving she was doing fine.

"Go faster," Tom said with a laugh. "You drive like an old granny."

Sybil pushed on the gas a little harder and the car seemed to shoot forward.

"It always seems so fast," she said.

"You can only drive twenty miles an hour in town, but here on the estate you can push it up to top speed. I've set it up so you can go a lot faster than twenty."

Sybil was zipping along what she thought seemed like a crazy speed on one of the country lanes on the estate. In fact she was going thirty miles an hour. At that rate she drove out further than she had ever done before it was time to turn around and head back. The lane they were on was shady and covered with trees. The leaves weren't starting to turn yet and it was a mild day.

"How did I do?" she questioned once she had the car turned around and pointed back. She switched the engine off.

"You'll be ready for town in no time," Tom assured her. He put his arm along the back of the seat and Sybil moved over to lean against him.

"I've missed you," she said shyly.

Their lips met in a frenzy of desire. "Thank God we're in the front seat, with a steering wheel and gear shift in the way," Tom thought. There was no way he would have been half as restrained had they been in the back.

"I bought something," he said between kisses. Sybil was pulling at his tie attempting to get it off him. She was doing a better job of choking him with it, so he pulled it loose and took it off.

"Like what," she said. She was busy opening the top buttons of his shirt and kissing the hollow at the bottom of his throat. Tom's mind was clouding and he was finding it difficult to speak. He held her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.

"Like the paper that would allow us to marry in a week," he finally said against her mouth.

"Ummm," Sybil said not really hearing him. She had the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat open and was busy exploring the play of muscles that made up his chest. "I always wondered what you look like without a shirt," she said against his skin. Tom had slid down on the seat and she was lying on top of him. The desire between them was running rampant. His erection was so hard, it was uncomfortable against the tightness of his pants. He could feel it throbbing taking all thought of priority out of his mind.

He pulled the hem of her blouse free from her skirt and pushed it up over her head, throwing it the back seat. His fingers were busy pulling at the catches of her undergarments. When he finally succeeded and her breasts sprang free of their captivity, they both gasped.

"Ooh," she moaned as he touched her. Her breasts were topped with nipples the size of ripe cherries. Tom slid her slightly higher on his body so he could take one into his mouth.

"Uhh," Sybil gasped. She could feel the moisture pouring out between her legs. Tom broke off his assault of her breasts and moved back to kissing her mouth. He undid her skirt and slipped his hand into her underwear.

"Tom?" she gasped as she realized where his hand was. Her eyes flew open and she looked down into his lust filled gaze.

"it's alright," he whispered. "Just let me touch you. I won't hurt you."

He kissed her again and placed his free hand on her breast and teased the tip as he slowly moved his finger to explore her wet folds.

"Oooh," she breathed against him as the sensation took over. He used his other hand to push her skirt down and her drawers. When Sybil sensed what he was doing she reached down and pushed the remainder of her clothes down. She returned to lying on top of him. Without the restriction of her skirt she was able to open her legs a little wider to allow him access. They shifted slightly so she was on the seat and Tom was beside her. She was going crazy in his arms and he was enjoying watching her squirm and whither at his touch. Before he knew it, her hands were at his belt buckle.

"Sybil," he said against her mouth. "Just let me touch you. Trust me."

She was getting close and the desire to explore his body more fully was pushing her on.

"I want to see," she said. Her lips were trembling and she was pushing herself against him. When she finally got the buttons undone, she gasped in wonder at what sprang free. There surrounded by fine red blonde hair was the most perfect male organ she had ever seen. The head was full and hard with little drops of fluid dripping from it. It was beautifully round and longer than her hand. She reached for him and slid her fingers around his engorged penis. Her fingers didn't quite reach all the way around. It was swollen and thick and made her want to do things she couldn't name.

He groaned into her mouth and rubbed her wet folds even faster. His finger slid around the opening to her vagina and his thumb rubbed her faster and faster.

"Uh," she groaned. "Oh Tom, Ooooh." She pressed herself harder against his fingers as her orgasm started. Wave after wave of sensation rocked through her body causing her to move involuntarily. Her first orgasm was shocking and wonderful at the same time. As Sybil's vision cleared slightly she realized Tom was still lying beside her on the seat and she was holding his erection in her hand. His breathing was labored and she wanted nothing more than to return what had just happened to her. She pushed herself up to kiss him. She tentatively tightened her grip and slid her hand along the smooth length. He was gasping against her mouth, touching her breasts and running his fingers along her still moist center. It wasn't long and his mouth went slack as his release came in a series of gushing spurts that pooled on his stomach. He was still partially dressed. He put one arm around Sybil and held her close as he reached for a handkerchief and wiped up the mess. He threw the now soiled cloth on the floor.

"Did you enjoy that?" he questioned into her hair.

She placed a kiss on his mouth.

"You know I did, you evil boy," she teased.

"I was trying to tell you before we got carried away, that I bought a marriage license. It has a two week waiting period," he said.

"We need a plan, first."

"I've sent applications. Now we just have to wait. I found out Gretna Green has a twenty-one day waiting period. After what just happened I don't think we'd make it that long."

Sybil nodded against him and ran her hand across his chest.

"We could get married and tell my parents once you have a job."

"That's what I was thinking. There are only six days left to wait, and then we can be together legally. We'd have to get married at the courthouse in York. We'll need a way to get away for the day."

"I'll come up with something," Sybil said. She started to pull her clothing back on. The way she desired him the longer they waited the harder it would be to resist the temptation. Now that she had seen what was waiting for her, she was only too ready to try it out. It would be a difficult six days.


	8. Finding Time

Finding Time

When they arrived back at the garage Lady Edith was impatiently tapping her foot waiting for them.

"Oh, no, it's your sister," Tom groaned when he spotted Edith first.

Sybil hadn't managed to get her clothes completely fastened right in the confines of the car and the tell tale handkerchief was something Tom had planned on disposing of once Sybil had left.

"You've been gone a long time," Edith complained as Sybil pulled up. Tom hastily opened the passenger door and got out ditching the handkerchief behind the door of the garage as discreetly as he could.

"We went further than expected," Sybil said coolly.

It was a good thing Tom was on the far side of the car as he blushed at Sybil's words.

"You seem to be learning to drive quite quickly," Edith said. "It took me a long time before I could travel very far from the estate."

"Branson is a good teacher," Sybil said with a smile.

"I'll just clean the car for you before your trip, milady," Tom said to Edith. "The car got a bit dusty on the back roads."

"Oh very well," Edith said. "Do hurry though. I'm going to be late for my call."

Sybil got out of the car like there was nothing wrong. Edith looked at her a bit strangely.

"Sybil what is wrong with your clothing?" she whispered. "You're all crooked."

Sybil looked down to see that in fact her blouse was miss buttoned as well as her jacket.

"My corset was too tight," Sybil whispered back. She glanced over her shoulder to see Tom busily wiping down the front seat. "I tried to loosen it myself but had some difficulty without Anna. I couldn't very well ask him." She nodded her head faintly in the chauffeur's direction.

"You had better fix it before anyone else sees," Edith whispered. "Or there will be havoc. You know Papa always thinks Branson is up to no good."

"I'll just refuel the car, milady," Branson said.

Edith just nodded to him as he moved the car to the refueling station.

"He's the perfect gentleman. I wish Papa wasn't so suspicious all the time."

"He's suspicious of you," Edith said. "I could have an affair with every man staying at the convalescent ward and he wouldn't blink an eye." Now that Branson was out of earshot she could say what she thought.

Sybil was hurriedly fixing her buttons.

"Edith!" she said.

"Well, it's true," Edith said. "You should be more careful. I'm not going to tell."

"_Edith! _Nothing's happened. We haven't done anything more than kiss," Sybil lied slightly.

"You and the chauffeur, Sybil honestly. What will Granny and Papa say?"

"They're not going to find out as long as you don't tell them."

"Just be more careful or they'll figure it out themselves. Just don't do anything too drastic."

Sybil had finished with her buttons and had her clothes straightened out. Tom pulled the car back around the building and got out, holding the door for Edith.

"Don't worry, Edith," Sybil said to her. "I won't do anything I haven't thought through carefully."

Edith just shook her head and walked towards the car. Sybil turned and watched Edith leave. When she was well out of sight she ran back and threw her arms around Tom's neck and kissed him.

"Six days from now, be ready," Sybil said. "I don't want to wait anymore."

"No more driving lessons for six days," Tom laughed. "I don't think my heart could take it. I thought your sister would catch on for sure."

"She did. She won't say anything."

Tom's face paled.

"She thinks we're having an affair. She warned me to be more careful."

"Speaking of that, you should go back to the house."

"I'll find a way to get away. I'll let you know when I have something figured out."

Tom gave her a final squeeze before she left him to run back to the house. He went to get the Renault and pull it up front for his next trip of the day.

A few days later Sybil had an idea that she thought might work. She decided to tell her parents that some of the girls from her nursing course who were living in a small town on the other side of York were having a small get together. She would stay overnight with them and travel back in the morning. She would have Branson drive her and since it fell on his half day, he could have his time off in York and drive her back in the morning. Her driving skills weren't up to such a long trip yet. She thought the plan was perfect and went to tell Tom about it.

"Do you really think they'll fall for it?" he asked.

"Edith is off visiting some ancient relative. She is the only one who might figure out something is not right. Paying calls is what my family does. They won't think it's strange. Besides I can tell them the nursing in our own home is starting to get to me and I need a short respite."

"All right I'll make the appointment with the judge. We still need to buy the rings. We'll have to give ourselves time to do that."

"Three days," Sybil sighed.

"I should hear back from the applications I sent next week," Tom said as he pulled her close. "Then we can tell them and everything will be settled one way or another."

He slowly drew Sybil in for a long kiss. She could feel the hard outline of his erection forming through his pants. They were in the garage with Tom leaning against the tool bench. Sybil shifted slightly closer and her lower body pressed against the unmistakable shape a small whimper formed in the back of her throat. Tom pulled back quickly.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Sybil whispered against his mouth. "I should go back. Three days can't come soon enough for me."

"Or me, love."

Sybil headed back to the house with her fingernails digging into her palms. Waiting is what sets humans apart from animals she thought. But the way I react to him you wouldn't know there is a difference.

As luck would have it, Sybil's parents and eldest sister wound up going to London for a few days on the date of Sybil's overnight visit to her "friends". She just had to contend with Carson.

Tom had to endure one of Carson's endless lectures on looking out for her and making sure she didn't get up to anything his Lordship would disapprove of. Tom assured Carson he had friends in the area he could stay with and not to worry about a thing. When Tom finally pulled up to the front door, Sybil was waiting for him with one of the maids standing by her case. Tom got the door for her and then stowed her overnight case in the back. Once they had driven through Downton and were on the road to York, Tom pulled over in a secluded spot.

"What are you doing?" Sybil inquired.

"I'm not wearing that monkey suit to my wedding," he said. He quickly changed his clothes to a plain grey jacket with dark waistcoat and pants. He opened the door and helped Sybil down.

"Ride in the front with me," he said. The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile and she gasped slightly at how handsome he was. She had never seen him dressed in anything besides his uniform and now in regular clothes his presence was even more virile than it had been before. Sybil sat in the passenger seat with her hands folded primly in her lap.

"When is the appointment?" she inquired.

"In two hours. We should have just enough time to stop at a jewelry shop before the service."

Sybil nodded. Tom handed her two envelopes.

"You do the honors. I couldn't bear to open them," he said.

Sybil opened the first letter to read the paper didn't have any full time openings at the moment but was accepting freelance work and hoped to hear from him in the near future. They had included an offer for an article.

"Damn," Tom muttered under his breath.

Sybil opened the second envelope. It contained a job offer at double what Tom made now at a medium sized paper in London.

"You have an offer," Sybil said excitedly. "Four hundred pounds a year."

"Which paper?" Tom asked.

Sybil read the name of the paper from the letter.

"We'll wait a few more days," Tom said. "That is only the first two I contacted. I contacted four others as well. The London paper wouldn't be my first choice, but it's better than no offers."

"You did well," Sybil said. "You've had one offer plus the offer of an article."

"I should hear back in the next few days, then we can really make plans."

Sybil slid her arms around his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Time seems to drag right now, but in a year we'll look back at how short our engagement really was."

"And how long you took to accept me," he said in a teasing voice.

It wasn't long and they were in York. They stopped at a small out of the way jewelry shop and purchased plain gold wedding bands. Their next stop was the courthouse. There was a small ladies waiting room and Sybil headed there to change her clothes. She had made a trip up to the attics and found Mary's coming out dress. It was a bit long for her and almost reached the floor, but it was a beautiful white dress. Another lady was in the waiting room and helped Sybil with the buttons on her dress and sleeves. Tom had purchased her a bouquet of flowers when they had stopped for the rings and Sybil held the flowers in her hands.

"You look lovely, my dear," she said.

"Thank you for your help," Sybil replied. She lifted the hem of her dress and went to meet Tom. He was waiting for her with the court clerk. Both men's mouths fell open slightly at the sight of Sybil in such an elaborate dress. Sybil took Tom's arm as they entered the courtroom. For the life of her she couldn't remember one second of the ceremony afterwards. As they each signed the register to make their union official Sybil breathed a sigh of relief. Once the witnesses had signed they were told when and where they could pick up a copy of the certificate in ten days time.

They left the courthouse with Tom carrying Sybil's case and her holding his other arm. They were so busy smiling at each other they were oblivious to anyone else passing by and failed to notice a group of army officers walking past. One of them raised his eyebrows and nodded his head her way while the other shrugged. They were both staying at the Abbey and had taken the bus to York for the day to do some shopping.

"Wasn't that Lady Sybil?" one of them asked the other.

"It was. Looked like a wedding dress."

"I wouldn't want to be that fellow when her father finds out."

"I'm not going to be the one to tell him."

"Well, don't look at me," the first one said.

Tom and Sybil made it back to the car and headed to a hotel on the outskirts of the city. Sybil was almost giddy with excitement as Tom signed the register Mr. and Mrs. Branson.

"You're newly weds then?" the lady behind the desk asked.

"Yes, just married," Sybil said with a blush.

"If you need anything dear, I'll be here all evening."

"I think we'll be fine, thank you," Sybil said. "Is there hot water in the bath?"

"Yes, it was just put in last year."

It was getting on for seven by the time they had made it to the room. It wasn't an elaborate room but had a private bath and it would do.

"Would you like to go for dinner?" Tom asked her. Now that they were married it was time for him to feel a bit shy. Marriage changed things somehow. He wanted to get it right and not repeat any of his earlier mistakes.

"I'm not hungry," Sybil said. She opened her case and pulled out her housecoat. "I'm going to take a bath." She paused for a second. "Would you like to join me?" Tom froze while fiddling with his cuff link. He looked at Sybil and slowly nodded. She walked across the room and lifted her hair. She turned her back for him to undo the series of buttons on the dress. He opened the buttons without a word then undid the remaining buttons on both sleeves. Sybil moved behind the screen in the corner and shed the dress and her undergarments. She slid her housecoat on and returned to stand in front of Tom. He was still standing there motionless.

"What's the matter, darling," she said.

"It just hit me. We really are married."

"So the judge said," Sybil said with a faint laugh. She reached up and loosened his tie then began sliding the buttons of his shirt free. Tom broke out of his trance and took off his jacket and waistcoat. He kicked off his shoes shucked off his shirt that Sybil had unbuttoned and quickly lost the rest of his clothing onto a pile on the floor. Once he had started to move, Sybil had gone to the washroom to run the bath. There was a large cast iron tub in the room and she had already gotten in and was sitting in the middle of the tub. Tom stepped in behind her and slid down into the water. Sybil slid herself back between his legs and leaned her back against his chest. When the water was high enough she turned the taps off. Tom's arms were around her and her fingers were twined between his. They lay in the warm water for a few minutes, finally Tom reached for a washcloth and soap, lathered it and began slowly washing her arms. He ran the cloth over her in slow circles running it down from her neck to caress her breasts and then lower down her abdomen until he could reach the juncture of her thighs.

Sybil turned half way in the tub so she could place her mouth against his. She opened her lips to accept his tongue fully into her mouth. He nibbled her bottom lip with his teeth before he leaned back and ran the cloth over her back. Sybil moved so she was kneeling in front of Tom. She took the cloth from him and began washing his body. He allowed her free reign until she pulled him forward to wash his back. She had to raise up slightly to reach and he pulled a nipple into his mouth while be played with the other before he gave that one equal attention. Sybil rinsed his back and then put her hands with the cloth under the water to wash his testicles and penis. When she finished with the cloth she allowed it to float away and continued to stroke him under the water.

Tom reached behind her and pulled the plug on the tub. They stood and dried each other off before Tom took her hand and lead her to the bed. Neither of them had said a word. They were looking into each other's eyes.

"Are you ready for this?" Tom asked.

"More than ready," Sybil replied in a quiet voice. She slid between the sheets with Tom right behind her.

He kissed her gently at first then with increasing passion as his erection continued to strengthen. He had been hard in the tub but now he was even harder. He had to remind himself over and over to take his time and bring her along with him. Sybil was returning his kiss and had her legs locked around his pulling him closer. He ran his lips down to her breasts, licking and sucking each in turn. He kissed her abdomen and ran his lips along her hips and down to her thighs. Sybil was twisting and moaning from his touch. She had been a walking ball of desire for the last six days and he was making her crazy with the wait.

Finally Tom returned to kissing her mouth. His fingers found her moistness. She was swollen beyond belief. He positioned himself to enter her and did it in one fluid movement.

"Aaa," Sybil gasped at her virginity tore away. Tom made to pull back and she wrapped her arms and legs around him not letting him move. "Wait," she whispered. Her body slowly relaxed enough to accept him inside her. He was full and thick and she felt full with every surface inside contacting him in some way. She kissed him and squirmed against him. Tom kissed her back deeply and began to move tentatively at first then with more confidence as Sybil began to respond. It was all he could do to hold on. Sybil was straining against him, pushing herself harder onto him and moaning her pleasure. Tom transferred his mouth to one nipple and reached between them to stroke her pleasure center with one finger.

"Oh," she cried as she grabbed his hair and drug his mouth up to hers. Her body clenched around him and trembled involuntarily as Tom let go his own orgasm and spilled him self into her. Their movements slowed and Tom moved to lie beside her and pull her into his arms. He lifted her hand with her wedding ring on it and kissed her wrist.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Sybil said hugging him slightly closer.

"You were a little hard on my hair," Tom said with a slight laugh.

"Did I hurt you?" Sybil said, stroking his hair and the side of his face.

"No, I didn't mind. it's nice to know that you were carried away."

"I love everything about us."

"Even the lying to your family?"

"Well, maybe not that so much."

"It will be over soon. Then we'll leave together."

"Mmm, together," Sybil sighed as she drifted off cuddled against him.


	9. Mother and Father

Mother and Father

The next morning they arrived back in Downton in their regular roles of Lady and chauffeur. Tom had his fingers crossed that he would hear back quickly from the last few papers. At least he had a job offer. They had decided if he had not heard from the others by the next Friday. They would tell her parents and leave then. Today was Thursday, which allowed them seven days before they would begin their lives as husband and wife in the open.

Sybil couldn't stop smiling when they had gotten up that morning. They had made love repeatedly through the night and were pushing their departure to the last minute.

"You're going to have to stop smiling or someone will get suspicious," Tom teased her.

"You're no better," she said.

As she stepped through the main door of the house, Edith came to meet her.

"Carson told me you went to see some friends from nursing school," Edith said.

"Yes, it was a nice visit," Sybil said.

"You had Branson drive you?"

Sybil was trying her best to keep her expression impassive as she had been trained, but Edith saw right through her.

"Yes, he was very accommodating."

"I bet he was," Edith said under her breath as they climbed the stairs.

Edith went to Sybil's room and sat on an ottoman while Sybil took her hat and coat off and set her case down on a chair.

"Tell me about your _visit_," Edith said with a frown. "What did you do Sybil?"

"Oh not much," Sybil said, she peeked around the door of her armoire at Edith. "The usual things, got married, had breakfast and came home."

"Sybil, you didn't!" Edith said with a shocked expression.

Sybil came over and showed Edith her ring. She had a huge smile that lit up the room.

"I did."

"He's the chauffeur! What will Papa say?"

"He has a different job lined up as a journalist. We're going to wait for a few days until he gets all the replies to the inquiries he sent out. He already has a good offer, so he's really not a chauffeur anymore."

"And I suppose you…?"

"Of course. We did wait until we were married. It was perfectly respectable. Try and be happy for me, Edith. You're the only one I've told."

Sybil opened her case and pulled out a very crumpled bouquet of flowers. She got an empty dish from her vanity and put the flowers in it with some water. She stood fingering the flowers lost in her memories of the previous day.

"How long has it been going on?"

"He asked me when I went to nursing school, but I only accepted a few weeks ago. Really, I've had feelings for him a lot longer. I just couldn't admit them."

"Sybil are you sure? Really sure its not just lust or an infatuation."

"I'm sure. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. He's decent and kind and perfectly lovely," Sybil said with a sigh.

"And poor," Edith said.

"He's not rich, but I don't care about all that. I never have. I'll have a normal middle class life, but that is what I want. I've never felt so free as since we got married. I don't know how to explain it. It's almost as though all the bonds of this life fell away the second we signed the register."

"I wish I had your optimism." Edith was looking at her hands and playing with the hem of her dress.

"You'll find someone too," Sybil assured her sister, "and then you'll feel exactly the same way I do."

A knock came at the door. It was Mrs. Hughes asking for help with some point about the housekeeping. Sybil's parents weren't expected back for another three days and she needed family approval on it. Edith got up to go and join Mrs. Hughes and left Sybil to her daydreaming.

Three days later Sybil's parents had returned. Tom had visited Sybil every evening during their absence through the secret passage. He had stayed through the night and they hadn't been disturbed. He had received back four replies to the six inquiries he had sent out. So far he had a considerable stack of requests for freelance articles but only one job offer. Sybil's mother noticed her daughter's change in disposition and commented on it.

"I think Sybil's in love," she told her husband their first night back.

"Well, who is he?" Lord Grantham inquired.

"I don't know," Lady Cora said. "She just said we would meet him soon."

"I don't like this one bit. You know how impulsive she can be."

"Now Robert, Sybil is strong willed but she's worked hard and accomplished a lot. Give her some credit."

"I just don't want her making any foolish decisions."

"She's young it goes with the territory. Were we any better at her age?"

Lord Grantham cocked an eyebrow at his wife. Then clicked off the light and snuggled down in bed.

"I remember what it was like," Lord Grantham said reaching for his wife. "That's what worries me."

The next two days passed without any word. Sybil was kept busy with double shifts, as both hospitals were short staffed. Tom was busy with errands and driving the family about. He had seen Lady Edith twice since his and Sybil's marriage. She had given him an odd look both times, but hadn't made any comment. Finally the last two letters arrived and it was time to make a decision. Sybil was on her way to the village hospital when Tom finally had a chance to tell her his news.

"We have three different cities to pick from," he said triumphantly. "We can tell your parents tomorrow, once we decide."

"It's wonderful news, darling," Sybil said. "We can discuss it tonight when I get back. I'll come to the cottage. Can you pick me up at midnight?"

"Of course," he said with a wink when he dropped her at the hospital.

When Tom returned to the Abbey he was told Lord Grantham wished to speak with him.

"Carson has told me you've handed in your resignation," Lord Grantham said.

"Yes, sir."

"This is rather sudden isn't it?"

"I've been thinking of a career change for sometime," Tom said. "I've recently made a personal commitment and the time is right."

Lord Grantham spotted the new wedding ring on Branson's left hand.

"And you wife is?"

"Not here sir. She will be joining me at my new position."

"I see," said Lord Grantham. "You will be missed."

"Thank you for saying so, sir. I hope that is the case."

"Why wouldn't it be the case?"

"No reason, sir."

"Well, that will be all. Congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you, sir," Tom said. He had been gritting his teeth through the entire exchange. He was dreading the confrontation he knew was coming the next day. That night he picked up Sybil after depositing her grandmother at the dower house. She was tired and didn't bother going to the main house, but stayed at the cottage with Tom until they had made their decision on where they wanted to live. She washed her face and hands and then made the long trek back across the grounds. Tom walked with her until they were within sight of the house.

"Tomorrow, meet me at the bench by the elm at one," Sybil said. "Be prepared, this will be beyond difficult."

"Your father knows I'm married," Tom said. "I have been wearing my ring. The staff has been asking questions. Tomorrow can't come soon enough for me."

"For me either. Goodnight, my love," she said as she kissed him goodnight then made her way into the house.

Sybil flopped into bed that night and slept until almost noon the next day.

"Darn it," she said as she quickly took a bath and put on fresh clothes, and then began throwing items into her suitcases. She hadn't packed very carefully, but then there wasn't time. She looked at her ring on its chain around her neck before she joined her parents for lunch.

"Mama, Papa, there is someone I'd like you to meet," Sybil said carefully.

"Your mother mentioned you had met someone of interest," her father said. "You should invite him over."

"I've asked him to come over after luncheon to meet you," Sybil said.

Edith kept her eyes trained on her plate.

"That is rather sudden isn't it?"

"I've known him for some time," Sybil said. "I think you should be properly introduced."

"Fine, bring him through to the library when he arrives," Lord Grantham said.

"I thought you might like to meet him in the garden," Sybil said. "At the bench by the elm at one."

"We would be happy to, wouldn't we Robert?" Lady Cora said.

Sybil and Edith left the dining room together a short while later. Mary had not yet returned from London.

"Rather a peculiar request isn't it?" Lord Grantham said.

"Not that peculiar. Try and be civil. This is the first man she has ever shown the slightest interest in."

Lord and Lady Grantham arrived at the appointed spot in the garden slightly before one. Sybil and Edith arrived a minute or two after their parents. They had been in deep conversation that ended abruptly just before their arrival at the appointed spot. Sybil had her jacket and gloves on and kept looking nervously towards the garage. Branson approached from the direction of the servants' hall and stopped at Sybil's side.

"Yes, did you need something?" Lord Grantham inquired of him.

"I'm here," he said softly to Sybil.

"I can see that," Lord Grantham said. "But what do you want?"

Sybil moved closer to Tom and took his hand.

"Papa, Mama," she began. "I want you to meet…my husband."

"Your what?" Lord Grantham said incredulously.

"My husband. We got married last week," Sybil said.

Sybil's mother was aghast and sat with her mouth open not making a sound.

"You can't be serious," her father said.

"I assure you we are quite serious," Sybil said calmly. "Tom and I were married last week. He has a new position lined up at a paper in Dublin as a journalist."

"You expect us to accept this just like that?" her father questioned.

"I expect you to accept that I've chosen to live my life with the man I love," Sybil said steadily. Her father turned away from them and thought things over for a moment. Tom gave Sybil's hand a reassuring squeeze. After a moment her father turned back to face them.

"What did you hope to gain by marrying my daughter?" he directed at Tom. "I won't be giving you any money."

"I'm not interested in your money," Tom replied. "I love Sybil and I want to make her happy."

"A strange kind of love to take her from all of this, to what a flat in a Dublin slum."

"I'm not poor and I can provide for my wife in a decent neighborhood. Did you ever stop to think that happiness doesn't depend on wealth?"

"Now see here!" Robert yelled back.

"Robert," Lady Cora finally managed to say. "Getting angry won't improve the situation. How long has this been going on Sybil?"

"Tom asked me to marry him last year. I considered it carefully and accepted him only a few weeks ago."

"Good Lord," her father said. "All this time you've been carrying on behind our backs."

"We weren't carrying on," Tom's voice was rising. "I asked her, she accepted and we were wed as soon as it could be arranged. That's it!"

"We'll have this farce annulled," Lord Grantham stated. "No daughter of mine is going to go off and marry a servant."

"No, Papa," Sybil said. Her anger was starting to rise. "Tom and I are married and will stay married for the rest of our lives."

"Do you think you can just waltz in here, make this kind of announcement and then everything will be fine?"

"I was prepared for you to disown me. I didn't like keeping the truth from you, but I felt I had to. We're prepared to leave today."

"Oh no, you don't. You don't get off that easy! You can tell the staff yourself," said Lord Grantham.

"Fine we'll tell the staff, but you can't lock me up and throw away the key. I won't leave Tom. You'll have to face that."

"I can't talk to you right now," Lord Grantham said. "Go and tell the staff and we can discuss this later." For all Sybil's father was trying to hold his composure his shoulders were slumping and he was looking defeated at the loss of his youngest daughter.

"Fine, we will," Sybil said with a toss of her head.

As Sybil and Tom walked away towards the servant's entrance, Lord Grantham slumped onto the bench beside his wife.

"Did you know about this, Edith?" Robert asked.

"Only in the last few days," she replied looking at the ground.

"You didn't say anything?" her mother inquired.

"It was Sybil's secret to tell, not mine. She loves him I think."

"Well that much is obvious," her mother said.

"I won't have this," Robert said jumping to his feet. "I won't stand for it."

"Robert calm down," Lady Cora said. "The deed is done. We have to decide what to do next. She could leave and we'll never see her again."

Edith left her parents alone to talk through their shock and anger. When she got inside Sybil and her new husband were coming from the servants' hall.

"How did it go?" Edith inquired of her sister. She still couldn't bring herself to look at her new brother-in-law.

"They're all in shock," Sybil replied. "I thought Carson would have a seizure on the spot."

Sybil and Edith started to move upstairs towards the library. Tom hung back.

"Sybil, I can't."

"Don't be daft," Edith said finally addressing him. "You're my sister's husband. You're not a servant anymore."

They went to the library and discussed Sybil and Tom's travel plans. Edith agreed to drive them to the train. They wanted to catch the six o'clock. They would have just enough time to board the ferry and arrive in Dublin by morning. Edith left the two of them on their own for a bit until her parents decided to come inside. Lord and Lady Grantham entered the library to find Sybil with her arms around her husband's waist and her head on his chest. He was stroking her hair and obviously trying to comfort her. Tears were running down Sybil's cheeks. The entire scene pressed home how young she was and still vulnerable despite her show of bravado. When they realized her parents had entered the room. Sybil straightened up and turned away to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Edith said we might find you here," Robert informed them. "What are these big plans you have? You seem to have everything worked out?"

"We're going to Dublin. We'll stay with Tom's mother until we can find our own place," Sybil replied.

"How can you cut her off from her family like this?" Lord Grantham said his ire rising quickly.

"I'm not cutting her off. If you cut her off it will by your hand, not mine," Tom shot back.

"We'll be in Dublin, Papa. Anyone who wants to visit will be welcome. We're not running off without a word."

"I can't stop you then?"

"No, my mind is made up. We'll take the train tonight and be in Ireland by the morning."

"Think of the scandal," her mother finally said.

"What scandal?" Sybil replied. "You can tell people whatever you like. I'm not in trouble, we waited until we were married and I've married the man I love. It's hardly scandalous."

"Don't be disrespectful to your mother," Lord Grantham shouted.

"I can see this is getting us no where," Sybil said. "Tom and I are leaving. We are married and you can't change that. I will write when we are settled."

Tom and Sybil moved towards the door.

"This conversation isn't over," her father intoned.

"For now it is," Sybil said.

They left the library to find Edith waiting for them in the hall. The three of them walked down to the garage. Tom stowed their luggage in the car and drove them to the train. Sybil had been dabbing at her eyes the entire time.

"They'll settle down eventually," Tom said to comfort her. "I'm sorry it didn't go better."

"It may take a while," Edith said. "But I'm sure they will forgive you. Write to me?"

"Of course I will," said Sybil. She kissed her sister's cheek before they boarded the train.

"I'm sorry," Sybil whispered to her before they parted.

"Don't be, just go and be happy," Edith said.

Edith stood on the platform and watched the train until it was around the bend and out of sight. Her sister's behavior was scandalous, but when it came to it Edith felt a pang of envy of the adventure her sister was embarking on.


	10. Mother In Law

Mother-In-Law

Sybil had cried off and on almost the entire trip to Ireland. She was so emotionally exhausted, she flopped into the bunk on the ferry crossing the minute they had made their way to the small cabin and hadn't woken until they were approaching the dock in Dublin.

"We knew it wouldn't be easy, love," Tom said placing a kiss in her hair during the train ride. "Write as soon as we get to my mother's and keep writing. They'll come around eventually."

Sybil nodded and stayed curled against him for the entire time. When she awoke the next morning she was anxious to see her new home and her previous excitement was back. She had packed so quickly that she had forgotten face soap and had to use some of Tom's tooth powder to brush her teeth.

From the ferry they boarded a tram into the city. There were too many bags for Tom to handle. Sybil carried the two lightest while Tom tucked one under his arm and carried Sybil's two other bags effortlessly. It wasn't long and they were walking down a row of brick houses that all looked alike except for the different flowers planted here and there in window boxes. Tom stopped at one and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Tom turned the knob and walked in.

"Ma, I'm back," he called. There was no answer.

"Oh well, she'll turn up," he said.

Tom dropped their cases in the front hall and went through to the kitchen. He got the kettle and put it on to boil. Sybil stood hesitantly beside him. He was so obviously at home here she didn't know what to do.

"You might as well sit down," he said.

Sybil took a seat at the table while Tom puttered around getting out the items to make some tea. It was a nice kitchen that was arranged for work. Everything was clean and in good condition. It was obvious his family was not rich, but neither were they poor. Tom had purchased a newspaper on their walk here and they looked at the rental ads while they drank their tea and waited for his mother.

"There's an ad for a furnished apartment," Sybil said. "It might be best to get something furnished. We wouldn't have to buy any furniture."

"Furniture shouldn't be a problem," Tom said. He turned the page and there were all kinds of ads for used furniture.

"It would be good though not to be tied down with too many possessions. At the moment we're free to go where the wind take us," Tom said.

"You make it sound so romantic," Sybil said. Tom reached across the table and pulled her in for a long kiss.

"It is," he teased.

They had circled a few places for rent. Sybil didn't know the city so she wasn't much help when it came to location. It wasn't long when they heard the door open and Tom's mother walked in. She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. Tom had risen to greet her and Sybil stood as well.

"Tom! What are you doing here?" his mother said.

"Hello Ma, I've taken a job in Dublin. I'm home."

His mother moved to put her arms around him and give him a hug.

"Who's this you've brought with you?" she questioned.

"My wife, Sybil."

"Your wife? You never wrote or mention a word about a sweetheart and you show up with a wife?"

"We've only just wed," Tom said taking Sybil's hand and drawing her close. "Things were a bit complicated."

"How do you do?" Sybil said.

Tom's mother's eyes opened wide at the sound of Sybil's voice.

"You're English?"

"Yes," Sybil replied.

"Catholic?"

"No," Sybil answered quietly. She had no idea why that would have any bearing on being Tom's wife.

"Forgive me for saying so son, but have you lost your wit's. An English wife that isn't catholic here in Ireland!"

"I told you things were a bit complicated," Tom said. His relaxed demeanor of a few minutes ago was rapidly fading to be replaced with one of stress. "There's more. So you might as well hear it all." Tom paused and took a deep breath. "Sybil is Lord Grantham's youngest daughter. She was born a Lady."

"You've brought a member of the English aristocracy here to my house?" his mother's shock was turning to anger. "After what they did to me, you dare to do this?"

"Sybil had no part in that. She's my wife. Try to understand."

"You're just like your father. He didn't think about the consequences of his desire either."

"That's a low blow, Ma. This is totally different. We didn't have an affair. We got married, that's the end of it."

Sybil hadn't been prepared for this. After the mess with her parent's yesterday they had walked into another with Tom's mother today. Tom's anger was evident. Sybil could feel him bristling beside her.

"I've told you and told you not to go getting some girl in trouble and now look what you've done."

"I'm not pregnant," Sybil contributed. "Unless it happened in the last week since we've been married."

"Well at least that's something," his mother snapped. "What do you think you're doing playing with my son until a new play thing comes along. Will you discard him without a thought?"

Sybil gasped. She hadn't been prepared at all for someone to think she would treat Tom so poorly.

"Don't speak to my wife like that," Tom shouted at his mother.

"I assure you I love Tom with all my heart and have committed to be with him for the rest of my life," Sybil said.

Tom was about to shout something else at his mother, but snapped his mouth shut.

"Tom," Sybil put her hand on his arm to try and calm him down a bit. The glint of red mother and son shared in their hair was more than evident. The tension in the room was razor sharp. Tom looked at Sybil then turned and went to the back door. He glared at his mother before he went out, slamming the door behind him. The glass rattled in the door but mercifully didn't break.

Tom's mother sank into a chair and began sobbing. Sybil stood in the middle of the room not quite knowing what to do for a minute. Finally, she put the kettle on and began making some fresh tea. When she got the tea made she put a cup on the table beside Tom's mother. She had stopped crying and thanked Sybil for the tea.

"I'm sorry we didn't write," Sybil said. "Things were a bit out of focus for a few days. We were both so busy with work and preoccupied making a decision about Tom's new job we just didn't have the time."

"Work? You work? But you're a member of the aristocracy."

"I've been working as an auxiliary nurse. My parents didn't approve at first, but eventually they gave in."

"And what do they think of your marriage?" Tom's mother asked. Her hair was the same blonde red as Tom's although her eyes were hazel and she was much shorter than her son.

"They were shocked and angry. We only told them yesterday. My father pretty well accused Tom of marrying me for money."

"He would never do that. Trust a peer to think of money first."

"My father is very concerned," Sybil said. "It isn't unheard of for suitor to be after the family fortune. I have no doubt that my husband is not interested in the money. I've walked away from my title, my family and the wealth to be with Tom."

"Well, this is a fine how do you do."

"We didn't enter into this marriage lightly. I took a year to give Tom my answer and even then I was still concerned about how our families would react. We aren't trying to hurt anyone. I loved him so much, I couldn't live without him anymore."

"So what's this new job?" Tom's mother asked.

"Tom's got a job with a newspaper here as a journalist," Sybil said brightening. "I'm hoping to find a nursing position once we get settled in our own place."

"How are you planning to take care of a place without a maid? I doubt you'll be able to afford one now."

"I know some basics and I saw to myself at nursing school. Tom knows more about keeping a house than me. I'll learn as I go along. As long as we don't get too large a place we should be fine."

"Hmmm," Tom's mother regarded her. "Well there's none so foolish as those in love. I think you're both being foolish, but what's done is done. There's no use crying over spilled milk. Now lets get these tea things washed up before that son of mine gets back."

Sybil cast a concerned look at the door.

"It's his Irish temper. That touch of red is no lie. He'll be back in a few once he's cooled off. Where are you planning to live?"

"We were looking through the paper for rentals before you got back. We're hoping to find something furnished. Tom was hoping we could stay here until we've found a place."

Tom's mother only nodded. She washed the tea things while Sybil got a towel and dried them. They were just finishing when Tom came through the door. His mother remained guarded with her but Sybil was hopeful, as she was at least being move civil than when she had been when fighting with Tom. She had given Sybil a chance to explain a few things.

Sybil had questions for her husband about what his mother had meant about his father and her comments about the aristocracy but wisely left them unvoiced. She was surprised to learn that Tom was an only child.

"I've got loads of cousins on my mother's side," Tom said that night when they were getting ready for bed. "But it has always been just me and Ma."

"What about your father's family?" Sybil asked.

"Don't know any of them. Saw my half brother once at a distance but didn't talk to him."

"Were you going to tell me about your father or is it a big secret?"

"It's not a secret," Tom said. "It's just not important. I used to think it was, but now I don't care."

Tom was lying on his back in bed and Sybil had snuggled close to his side and had her head on his shoulder. They were both worn out from all the emotional turmoil of the last couple days.

"So are you going to tell me?" Sybil said. "I am your wife after all. If it affects you it affects me."

"Alright then," he sighed. "My mother was working as a maid in a big house in northern England not far from the border when she was young. She had an affair with the lord of the manor and when she got pregnant he paid her off and sent regular payments for my care. She came back to Ireland, made up a story about a deceased husband and raised me here. I think he's a Duke or a Viscount or something."

"No wonder she didn't react well to the news about my family."

"She doesn't trust the aristocracy. You can't blame her."

"No," Sybil said with a small frown. "So who's your half brother?"

"I think you know him," Tom paused for a minute. "Evelyn Napier."

"What! Viscount Branksome is your father?" Sybil sat up with her eyes wide.

"He sired me. He's not anything to me. I've never met him. Not much of a father if you ask me."

"Tom you should have told me."

"Why? Would it have made any difference?"

"Yes, No, I don't know."

"It doesn't matter, Sybil. Not really in the big picture of things. I don't know the man and have no desire to. He's not the kind of man I want to be. Lets just leave it at that. Ma used an Irish derivation of the title. Legally I'm Tom Branson, not Branksome or Napier. It doesn't change anything."

"No, it doesn't. I love you no matter what your last name is," Sybil said as she curled down in bed and burrowed herself in Tom's arms.


	11. Dublin

Dublin

Sybil had learned quite quickly to lie about her religion when she was looking for a nursing position. The first two hospitals she had applied at where more interested in her religion than her nursing qualifications. There was a nursing shortage but it made no difference in the prejudice against the English she was encountering. At her third interview she casually mentioned her husband was originally from Dublin and that they attended mass regularly. It wasn't an outright lie as she did attend mass with her husband at least once a week but didn't take communion. It was enough of an evasion of the truth to land her a position at a small hospital.

They had no problem finding a small, furnished flat in the vicinity of Tom's work with a common garden in back. It was a bit further to the hospital but it was a nice walk and Sybil didn't mind the time to wind down after her shift. The flat was in a nice section of town with a large park at the end of the street. Sybil had faced some anti-English sentiment when she attempted to do the grocery shopping, but had quickly learned which stores would serve her and which wouldn't. As well she had learned to watch the prices and be sure the shopkeepers were totaling the bill accurately. After the first few times of inflated prices she had caught on quickly.

Tom continued to be a man of surprises. He would loose himself for hours in his work or forget to eat when he was engrossed in a book, then to make it up to Sybil he would cook dinner for a week. He had no issue heating water and doing the laundry on his day off. About a week after they had moved into their new flat, Sybil was surprised one morning to find Tom heating water with a large pile of their laundry on the counter in their kitchen.

"What are you doing with all that?" Sybil asked him.

"Washing it. Does this blouse go in hot or cold water?" he asked.

"Warm, I think," Sybil replied.

She had tied up and dusted while Tom did their laundry. Between the two of them the housework was completed by lunchtime.

"There isn't much for me to do here," Sybil laughed one day when she had returned from work to find Tom scrubbing their small bathroom.

"I didn't marry you for your house cleaning skills," Tom said. "If I wanted a girl who cooked and cleaned all day and never argued with me I could have found that long ago."

"So I should pick an argument everyday and then you'd be happy?" Sybil teased him.

"Only if we get to do what we usually do when we make up," he teased her back.

"We do that without an argument," Sybil laughed. They still couldn't get enough of each other and unless they were exhausted at the end of their workday making love was part of their daily routine.

Sybil had written first to her mother then in turn to Edith, Mary and her Grandmother. The first to reply had been Edith and after her second letter to her mother a short reply had arrived. At first the lack of response had upset her, but Tom encouraged her to keep trying.

"They love you," he said. "It will take them time to adjust. Just keep trying."

At Christmas Sybil received a letter from her Grandmother, mother and each of her sisters. The tone in each of them was much friendlier than the previous letters. Her father's continued resistance still stung, but she tried not to let it deter her.

Tom's mother was still cool to Sybil but had accepted the situation. She supported her son's bride in public although in private he regularly got an earful. She had stopped by one evening when Sybil was tired from the hospital and had managed to burn a roast and undercook the vegetables.

"She's not suited to this life. Why can't you see that?" his mother griped at him.

"She's trying her best and I'd thank you to stay out of it," Tom replied.

"I'm your mother and I want what's best for you."

"I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions and deciding what's best for me," Tom replied.

It had shut his mother down for one day but she was still ready to find fault with almost everything Sybil did. Sybil's introduction into Tom's extended family had been dizzying with so many cousins, aunts and uncles Sybil couldn't keep them all straight. She had evaded the topic of her religion and had kept her title to herself. When asked how she and Tom had met, she replied that he had worked on the estate where her family lived. Most assumed her father worked on the estate in a higher position and didn't question her background.

Without the restrictive environment Sybil had been raised in she was free to follow her own interests and made enquiries about upgrading her nursing training. Tom was supportive of the idea and Sybil found out she could apply her work experience towards her upgrade. As well the local nursing school was offering courses two days a week in response to the nursing shortage to allow nurses to attend school and keep working while taking advanced training. In January, Sybil began her upgrading. Her hours were long and she was tired when she returned home, but she was the happiest she had ever been.

Tom was hiding a great deal from her about his work. Some of the reporters at the paper had received death threats and men wearing nondescript clothing had beaten two of them. Everyone suspected it was the work of the local police, but nothing could be proven. Tom had received a number of threats and had a few narrow escapes when he had gone to cover meetings that turned into a brawl when opposing forces had shown up.

Tensions in the city were heating up yet again by the spring and Tom could no longer conceal his fears from Sybil. He insisted that she wait until he arrived to walk her home from work each day and wouldn't let her go shopping on her own. When he had been sent overnight to cover a meeting Tom had arranged for one of his younger cousins to come and stay with Sybil so she wouldn't be alone. Their neighborhood was relatively quiet, but there had been gunshots on the street twice and Sybil had seen the results of the violence first hand at the hospital.

In the summer of 1918 the troubles in Ireland came knocking on the door. It was a warm Saturday afternoon. The skies were clear and Tom had gone to cover a rally in a neighboring town. Sybil had taken the opportunity to visit her mother-in-law, as she wanted to learn how to make a local dish she had never seen in England. The women had put the meal in the oven and were sitting in the back garden enjoying the day. A young man around seventeen or eighteen years old Sybil thought possibly was one of the cousins staggered into the garden. He was holding his side and was obviously injured. Sybil was up and at his side in a flash. Her mother-in-law was almost as fast.

"Rory. What's happened?" Mrs. Branson inquired.

"God damn soldiers," Rory rasped out.

"And what did you get up to?" Mrs. Branson demanded. "You were out with those thugs that call themselves part of the Volunteers again weren't you? You're going to get yourself killed."

"Let's get him inside," Sybil said.

The two women got him into the kitchen. Mrs. Branson removed his coat while Sybil got a scissors to cut his shirt.

"I don't want her touching me," he said tossing his head towards Sybil.

"You mind your tongue. You just be glad she's here and can mend what that stupid head of yours has gotten you into. She's a nurse and knows what she's doing."

Sybil stepped forward to cut Rory's shirt away from the wound. He flinched and pulled away from her. He was looking at her as if he expected her to stab him with the scissors. He took a staggering step, groaned and pitched forward almost hitting his head on the table. The two women helped him into a chair. Sybil cut his shirt off to reveal a gunshot wound in his side.

"He needs to go to the hospital," Sybil said.

"He can't. He'll be arrested for sure. Possibly beaten. He's the neighbor's boy from down the street."

"Oh," Sybil said. "I know how to treat this but it won't be pleasant without anesthetic. It is going to hurt."

"It already god damn hurts," Rory slurred.

"You watch your tongue," Mrs. Branson said. "I'll go get his mother."

"First get me your first aid supplies," Sybil said. "Do you have rubbing alcohol? If not whiskey will do."

Sybil had retrieved a clean kitchen cloth and was wiping the blood from around the wound. Rory was trying to pull away from her, but was in too much pain to move very far.

Mrs. Branson hurriedly retrieved the supplies before she headed out the door to retrieve Rory's mother.

Sybil cleared off the kitchen table and washed it down before she instructed Rory to lie on the table. She pushed a chair up to one end for his feet to rest on.

"Why should I do anything you say?" he demanded."What are you going to do to me?"

"Right now you have two choices. Allow me to treat the wound or go to the hospital and be arrested. Which is it?" Sybil retorted.

Rory was looking at her warily and wanted to protest but thought better. Sybil was all business and looked like she would box his ears if he talked back.

"All right, you can do it," he said. He moved to lie on the table.

Mrs. Branson rushed in with Rory's mother.

"Rory. What have you done?" his mother cried.

"He'll be fine," Mrs. Branson said. "My daughter-in-law knows what to do."

"We'll need needle and thread to stitch the wound shut," Sybil said. "Linen thread if you have it."

Rory's mother gasped at Sybil's words and broke out in a tirade of Irish. The two older women were having a rapid exchange in Irish when Rory groaned loudly.

"I must insist you get the needle and thread now," Sybil said taking charge of the situation. "If you want to help your son, stand by his head and hold his hands. I'm going to remove the bullet and close the wound. I'm sorry to say but this is going to hurt a great deal."

Mrs. Branson returned with the thread and some needles. Sybil prepared the needle and thread and placed it in a small pot to be boiled. She finished cleaning the wound and then placed a rolled up tea towel in Rory's mouth. She cleaned her hands with rubbing alcohol. She picked up a tweezers she had soaking in rubbing alcohol and allowed them to dry for a minute in the air.

"It's going to hurt now, but it will be over soon," she crooned to the young man. He looked back at her with fear in his eyes. He looked to his mother and then back to Sybil.

"Hold his legs," Sybil said to her mother-in-law.

Sybil inserted the tweezers into the wound until she felt the bullet. Rory was fighting and trying to scream against the towel in his mouth. Sybil carefully maneuvered the tweezers until she had the bullet and slowly pulled it from the wound. The blood flowed from the wound and Sybil pressed on it with a clean dry cloth to apply pressure.

"He's lucky it missed his liver," she said. "It's a flesh wound. I've done this before when I was working with the war wounded but never without an anesthetic and proper instruments."

Rory had passed out from the pain.

"What's happened? You've made things worse," Rory's mother accused Sybil.

"He's fainted. He will come round in a few minutes," Sybil said. "Please remove the towel from his mouth and allow me to continue undisturbed."

Mrs. Branson brought the pan with the boiled needle and thread. She had poured off the boiling water. Sybil picked up the needle with the tweezers and allowed it to cool before she began to stitch. She closed the wound neatly and then used items from the first aid kit to bandage Rory's side. Sybil asked for a clean pillowslip, which she cut into strips for wide bandages. When she was completely finished bandaging the young man, she cleared away the bloody towels. She took a moment and pushed the hair off her forehead with her wrist.

Both of the older women were staring at her with a look of wonder on their faces.

"He'll be fine," Sybil said. "He'll probably sleep for the next two days. The bandages will need to be changed daily for the next four days or so and the stitches removed in ten days. He didn't loose enough blood to be in danger. Rest and decent meals for a few days will help him build his strength back up. We can get him up in half an hour or so."

Rory's mother began to cry. "My poor boy" she sobbed. Mrs. Branson moved to comfort the boy's mother.

"Your son will recover," Sybil said. She had understood every word Rory's mother had said earlier in Irish. Most of it had not been complimentary towards Sybil or her nationality.

Rory groaned and rolled his head to the side. Sybil got another damp towel and wiped Rory's face. His eyelids fluttered open.

"You're going to be fine," she said with a reassuring smile.

"Hurts like hell," he mumbled.

"Getting shot usually does," Sybil replied.

She helped him sit upright and supported him while he regained his equilibrium.

"He shouldn't really walk down the street in this condition," Sybil said. "He should stay here for a few days."

Mrs. Branson nodded and between them the women got him up the stairs and into the spare room. Rory's mother wasn't much help. Sybil could smell the alcohol on her and suspected she had been drinking. Once they were in the bedroom, Sybil removed Rory's cloths and got him into bed. He promptly fell asleep as soon as the covers were pulled up.

The women returned downstairs and began the process of cleaning the kitchen.

"We'll burn the towels," Mrs. Branson said to Rory's mother. "The police won't find him here. We won't be telling my son about this or he'll never let his wife set foot in my house again."

"No Tom, would have a fit, I'm afraid," Sybil agreed. "Oh my pie!" She rushed to the oven and rescued her fruit pie with it's lumpy, misshapen crust. The edges were scorched. Luckily the meat dish she had made with her mother-in-law was still intact and had fared better than the pie.

"We'll just cut off the burned bit," Mrs. Branson said seriously.

After the stress of the afternoon Sybil and Mrs. Branson began to giggle and then laugh hysterically. Rory's mother looked at them like they had lost their senses and beat a retreat out the back door.

That evening Sybil took a tray up to Rory and pushed the food into him by the forkful. He was still weak from the afternoon and his hands were shaking too much to feed himself. He never took his eyes off her.

"The shock should wear off by tomorrow," Sybil said as she pushed another forkful of meat and potato into his mouth.

"Are you really married to an Irishman?" he asked between bites.

"Yes, I am," Sybil replied. She had heard similar questions at the hospital before.

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I've never met anyone like you before. You're English but your kind and nice at the same time."

"And how many English people have you met that weren't soldiers? Sybil asked.

"None."

"Not everyone from England is a soldier," Sybil chided him. "Just like not everyone from Ireland is a rebel." She put a glass of milk to his mouth for him to drink. Rory managed to hold it himself as he drank it. He handed the glass back to Sybil.

"My Da was killed by the English."

"Was he a rebel?"

Rory nodded.

"Is that why you're one?"

"Pretty much."

"My father thinks everyone from Ireland is a rebel. He is convinced my husband is one."

"How will you change his mind if your husband isn't a rebel?"

"We will keep trying and one day he'll see what a decent man I've married. My father is kind and generous most of the time. He wants his daughters protected. Once he understands that my husband takes care of me. He will come around."

"I'm going to have to leave Ireland after this."

"I can ask my father to help you get a job, if you like. Only if you promise no more armed demonstrations and to give English people a chance. We're not so bad you know. Some of us even believe in freedom for Ireland."

"Maybe. I'll have to think about it."

Sybil took the tray back down and switched off the light so Rory would go back to sleep. Rome wasn't built in day, she reminded herself.

When Tom arrived to collect Sybil the following day, the police were on the stoop four doors down questioning Rory's mother. Tom frowned as he passed by and hurried to check that Sybil was alright. Sybil was not in sight when he entered the house.

"What's going on down the street and where's Sybil?" Tom asked the moment he entered the house. He could tell from the worried look on his mother's face that something was up.

"Rory Lester got shot. The police are looking for him."

"Young fool," Tom said.

"I remember a time when you weren't much better."

"I never got into an armed conflict, Ma."

"By the grace of God."

"Where's Sybil?"

"Upstairs."

Tom raced up the stairs to make sure his wife was alright and came to an abrupt halt in the door when he spotted Rory Lester sitting up in bed with his wife sitting on a chair talking to him.

"You little prick," Tom said clearly annoyed. "What are you doing here?"

"Recovering from a wound. Your wife saved my life."

"Hardly that," Sybil replied. "I did save you from the police."

"It's the same thing," Rory replied.

"You god damn stupid little bastard. Do you have any idea the danger you've put my wife in?" Tom said. He was angry but didn't raise his voice incase the police were still on the street.

"Settle down, Tom," Sybil said. "He staggered into the garden yesterday. There wasn't much choice. I patched him up. It will be a few days before he can go anywhere. Two weeks at least before he can make the trip to England."

"It's dangerous keeping him here," Tom wasn't ready to give up.

"And where would you have us keep him?" Sybil arched an eyebrow at her husband.

Tom knew when he was beaten. He let out a sigh and went to sit on the foot of the bed.

"Did anyone see you arrive?" Tom asked Rory.

"No, only my Ma knows I'm here and she's had enough years of lying to the police she won't have any trouble."

"You've got to stop this," Tom said looking at Rory. "Rocks and bricks against bullets aren't going to get you anywhere except dead."

"I think I got the message," Rory replied. "I'm going to have to try my luck in England for a while. Sybil's been telling me about it."

"It's not a bad place," Tom said. "The wages are good if you're willing to work. Not a catholic church close to the place I worked though."

"How did you go to mass while you were there?"

"I didn't. No regular Sunday sermon of _you will burn in hell if you have impure thoughts_," Tom said with a laugh. "It wasn't so bad."

"If there were no catholic churches around there that makes you…" he looked at Sybil with large eyes.

"A Protestant," she supplied.

"Holy Mother Mary," Rory choked out.

"A lightening bolt hasn't descended from the sky and struck me yet when I go to mass with my husband," Sybil said sweetly. "I really don't understand what all the fuss is about. Church is church. I'll just take these dishes down."

"You better not tell the Reverend Travis that if we ever visit Downton. The old codger will drop dead of the shock," Tom said.

"I think my choice of husband my have already done him in," Sybil said as she headed out the door.

"How can you joke about it?" Rory said.

"How can we not?"

"Your wife is not what I expected an English woman to be like," Rory said thoughtfully.

"What did you expect?"

"I didn't expect her to be so… nice."

Tom smiled as he moved to the chair Sybil had been sitting in.

"The English aren't what you expect. They aren't all bad. Most of them are all right. Some are bastards. I had to change my mind in a hurry when I got there. I thought my employers would be a bunch of elitists with no thought for anyone else, but they weren't."

Rory thought about what Tom had said for a moment.

"Sybil said she would write to her father about finding me a job over there."

Tom gave him a stern look.

"That's a compliment coming from her. She wouldn't do that unless there was something about you she liked. She would never let anyone she thought was a threat anywhere near her family."

"I remember you were pretty militant before you left."

"I realized I wouldn't be doing anyone any good sitting in prison. There are other ways that get a lot more attention, but that was my choice. You don't have to be what your father was."

"My father fought for Ireland," Rory said sticking his chin out.

"Do you really remember what he was like?" Tom asked.

"No, not really," Rory said. "I was three when he died."

"I remember him staggering down the lane more often than not drunk as a lord and shouting obscenities about the English. He got thrown out of church for showing up drunk and snoring so loud he drowned out the priest. You were a little kid, I don't know what really happened in the end," Tom paused a moment. "My father was a philandering bastard that couldn't keep his dick in his pants. It doesn't mean I have to be like him. Whatever you do, just do it better and smarter than your Da."

"I'll give it some thought," Rory said.

Tom got up to leave. He turned back when he got to the door.

"By the way, if you ever do anything that endangers my wife or any member of my family ever again I'll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands. You won't have to worry about the police."

Rory swallowed and shrunk down a little in the bed. He didn't doubt that Tom Branson wasn't joking.


	12. Decisions

Decisions

Tom was still worked up about Sybil having been in danger by helping Rory.

"If the police ever found out, you would go to jail," he said.

"Honestly Tom, what was I supposed to do with an injured boy at the door," Sybil replied.

Tom grumped and growled but in the end he escorted Sybil back over to his mother's in a week and a half to remove Rory's stitches. The police were still looking for Rory and he hadn't left the upstairs of Mrs. Branson's for the entire time.

"I have some news for you," Sybil said. "I heard back from my family. There is a job for you if you'd like it. Nothing too glamorous I'm afraid."

"Doing what?" Rory asked.

"There's a farm that has no workers near where my family lives. They've all left for the war. The couple there would be happy to give you a job. Even happier if you could drive the tractor."

"I've never been on a farm before, but I guess I could learn," Rory said. "Has the man ever been a soldier?"

"No, John Drake has a bad heart. Besides he wouldn't hurt a fly. You shouldn't have any problem at Drake farm. They'll treat you well," Sybil said. She had finished pulling out the stitches and Rory was putting his shirt back on.

Sybil handed him an envelope. "They've sent ten pounds towards your fare. This is the contact information and directions on how to reach the farm."

The seventeen year olds eyes widened. "Mrs. Branson, Sybil, I… thank you."

"Your welcome. Just don't go getting shot again."

"I won't," Rory said bashfully.

A week later Rory Lester arrived at Drake farm with a satchel over his shoulder. He had worked his way over on a small boat. He had avoided the ferry in fear of the police. Mrs. Drake had shown him to a room in the farm house and John Drake had been only too glad of his arrival as there was not an able bodied farm hand available in the entire district.

"Lady Sybil's recommendation was good enough for me," John Drake said as he shook Rory's hand.

"Do you mean Sybil Branson?" Rory questioned. "She contacted her father about finding me a job."

"Yes Lord Grantham was by and said Lady Sybil had a young man from Ireland she could recommend for a position here. The word in the village is she married a journalist from Ireland and is living in Dublin now. She's Lord Grantham's youngest daughter."

Rory paled slightly. He'd had his supper spoon fed to him by a member of the aristocracy. It would make a tale to tell his grand children someday and he was determined he was going to live long enough to be alive to see them.

Two months after Rory left for England Sybil finished up the courses she was taking and was busy looking through the course catalogue for another training when she started feeling sick to her stomach. She went in the washroom and promptly lost the contents of her stomach. She felt ill all day but put it up to a stomach flu that was circulating at the hospital. After three days of feeling ill with no fever she decided to speak to one of the doctors. She was in shock when she returned home and sat quietly in one of the armchairs in the flat.

"How can we bring a baby into a war zone," she said to herself. No matter how much they tried to deny it in their personal lives, Ireland was in a state of upheaval and the streets weren't safe. Tom was trying to hide the dangers of his work from her, but she had read between the lines enough to know things weren't as rosy as he tried to lead her to believe. The police had been to their door twice asking questions about meetings Tom had attended in his role as a reporter. They had left after questioning him, but Sybil knew it was only a matter of time before one of his articles upset the wrong person enough that they came after him. Her child, their child needed it's father. Her protective instincts were welling up and she wanted her family safe.

Tom returned home that evening to find Sybil sitting staring into space with no super started.

"Sybil, what's wrong," he said rushing to her. He knelt in front of her and began checking her over.

"Oh Tom, you're back," she said. "Nothings wrong. I was just thinking."

"About what? You gave me a fright."

"I was thinking about when we first moved here and we talked about not being tied down to one place."

"What's brought this on?" he said with a serious look on his face.

"I was thinking about where we would want to raise our children."

"Why are you thinking about that now?"

"Because in seven months or so we are going to be parents."

Tom sat back at her news. His emotions were running wild. Fear, happiness, and disbelief were bundled together inside him and making his stomach churn.

"Are you happy?" Sybil asked him at his silence.

He nodded and stood up to pull her into an embrace.

"I can't believe how protective I feel at this moment," he said. "It's good news but I can't think what to do first."

"Neither can I," Sybil said. "I guess I'm going to have to learn to knit."

"Leave that to my mother. You have other things to do."

"Like what?" Sybil was snuggling herself into his chest.

"Like helping me decide where we are going to live and figuring out how we're going to tell your parents."

"We have to tell your mother first."

"Later, right now you need to put your feet up while I fix you something to eat."

Sybil kissed him on the mouth.

"You are so good to me. Why did I keep you waiting so long?"

"Because you wanted to do what was right and it made me love you more."

"I was being foolish. I couldn't be happier than I am when I'm with you."

"It's done now," he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. Dinner was forgotten as passion took over and pushed all thought except each other from their minds.

Tom's mother was overjoyed at the news she was going to be a grandmother. As Tom had predicted his mother was soon turning out booties, bonnets and layettes at a frantic pace. The end of the Great War arrived in November but it had little effect on their daily lives. The hospitals were still full of the wounded and the fight for Ireland still raged outside their door. Sybil would have another month or two at the most before she would be forced to stop working.

"We have to let your parents know about the baby," Tom said one day.

Sybil had been corresponding regularly with her mother and grandmother but there had not been a hint of a visit or an invitation.

"I don't know how they'll take the news," Sybil said. She was always a little sad when they talked about her family.

"How they take it won't change the fact that a baby is on the way. I've made some inquiries at work. The paper needs someone to go to London and report on the happenings in Parliament. The position comes with a raise. I was thinking we could go down and try it for a while. We could stop and visit your parents. Test the waters so to speak."

Tom was tensed slightly while waiting for Sybil's reaction.

"Yes," she said after a moment throwing her arms around his neck. "I've been wanting to go somewhere safer to have the baby. This could be just the answer."

"You mean you don't like Dublin?" Tom teased her. He knew very well the violence was getting to both of them.

"I like Dublin, just not the violence and unrest," Sybil replied.

She went and got her writing materials and sat down at the kitchen table to write to her parents about her pregnancy.

"There," she said when she had finished it. "I can write them later about the visit when we have the arrangements made."

In January they were ready for the trip to England. They packed their bags and returned the keys to the landlord. If they returned to Dublin they would need a larger place for the baby anyway. They hadn't accumulated too many possessions as they had planned on the flat being only a temporary home when they first moved in.

"What's the matter?" Tom inquired as they walked away from their flat for the last time.

"It was our first place. I hate to see it go," Sybil said nostalgically.

"Now then, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Fading with every inch my stomach grows," she replied.

While they were saying their goodbyes at Tom's mother's house, Rory Lester's mother stopped in and made Tom promise to check on him.

"He hasn't written in over a month. I don't like to think of him there surrounded by English."

"I survived just fine for four years," Tom said. The look on his face wasn't too kind. "Rory's got a good place with decent people if he doesn't mess it up."


	13. Return

Return

By the time they arrived at Downton, Sybil felt like a giant rolling blue berry. She was wearing a loose blue maternity dress and she was exhausted from the trip. Her mother's last letter had said the house was reverting to normal as the convalescent home was no longer necessary.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked her husband as the train pulled into the station.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied.

Mary and Edith were waiting for them on the platform when the stepped down from the train. Both women greeted their sister fussing over her condition and asking if she was feeling well from the trip. Edith greeted her brother-in-law briefly while Mary only gave him a dismissive sniff.

"I'll go and collect the bags," Tom said wanting to escape from his sisters-in-law.

"We have a driver for that," Mary informed him haughtily.

"I'm aware of that," Tom replied through clenched teeth. "I'll see to our things myself."

Mary rolled her eyes. Sybil ignored her and was busy telling Edith all about her work at the hospital.

"Allow me, milord," the chauffeur said to Tom as he was collecting the bags.

"It's not, milord," Tom informed him. "You can call me Mr. Branson, my wife prefers Mrs. Branson rather than Lady Sybil."

The older man gave Tom an odd look. Tom picked up four of their cases and headed towards the car, leaving the man to carry two. Tom was busy storing the cases by the time the chauffeur arrived.

"I can see to it sir… Mr. Branson," the chauffeur said uncomfortably.

"I prefer to see to myself," Tom replied. He was already tense from his meeting with Lady Mary and Lady Edith. He needed something to do. By the time he joined Sybil, her and her sisters were seated in the car chatting up a storm. Sybil slid over on the seat to make room for him, while Edith and Mary exchanged a look.

"Mary was just saying Papa and Mama are expecting more guests for the weekend," Sybil said brightly. "You'll get to meet some of their friends, darling."

Mary winced at the endearment.

"I look forward to it," Tom replied politely. He was normally talkative and relaxed but the stress was making him taciturn. Thankfully the drive to the Abbey was not a long one. As they pulled up to the front doors Tom caught himself before he groaned. The staff was turned out to meet them and Lord and Lady Grantham were waiting for them at the door.

One of the new footmen came to open the car door. Tom stepped out first and turned to help Sybil out of the car. Tom could hear a few gasps coming from the servants but tactfully ignored them.

"Mama, Papa, I'm so glad to see you," Sybil said. She kissed each of her parents on the cheek.

"You're looking well, dear," her mother said. She turned to her son-in-law. "Welcome to Downton."

"Thank you for having us, Lady Cora," he said.

"You seem so grown up, I hardly recognize you," Lord Grantham was saying to Sybil. He turned his gaze to her husband. "Branson," he said in acknowledgement of Tom's presence.

"Lord Grantham, thank you for allowing us to visit."

"Not at all," Sybil's father replied.

They entered the house with Edith and Mary following behind. The staff was busy carrying their cases upstairs. Sybil was so busy catching up with her mother and sisters she didn't notice the odd looks they were getting from the staff or the way her family were pointedly ignoring her husband.

"Sybil should get some rest," Tom suddenly blurted out.

"I'm only a little tired from the trip," Sybil tried to cajole him.

"You need to rest. You're not doing yourself any good overdoing things," Tom insisted. Sybil had vomited twice that morning and he was concerned as she had been listless on the train and complaining of her legs and back aching.

"Well, of course you should rest. We can talk later," Lady Cora said. "They've prepared your old room."

Sybil turned and went to head up the stairs.

"If you'll excuse me," Tom said and hurried after her.

"I don't like this one bit," Lord Grantham said to his wife. "He's controlling her."

By the time Sybil made it to the landing she was getting dizzy. Tom was right beside her with one hand on her back. The second she began to sway, he lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way up the to her old room.

"Oh, Sybil," her mother cried. She dashed up the stairs behind them. Mary was right behind her mother.

"I think he was just concerned, Papa," Edith said, before she moved to join the others.

When they entered Sybil's old room, Tom was unbuttoning Sybil's dress, while she was siting on the side of the bed.

"She's just motion sick," Tom said to Lady Cora when his mother-in-law rushed into the room.

"We should send for the doctor," Mary said ignoring him.

"Tom's right. The ferry was rough and I was sick on the train. It's nothing tea, toast and some rest won't fix," Sybil said with a sigh.

Tom stopped working on Sybil's dress and moved to find her nightdress in one of her cases. His things were nowhere in sight. He returned to start helping his wife out of her dress.

"We can see to that," Lady Cora said to Tom, laying a hand on his arm. "Why don't you go down and join Lord Grantham?"

Just then Sybil got to her feet as quickly as she could and headed for the washroom.

"Oh no," Tom ground out as he followed Sybil into the washroom and supported her while she vomited into the toilet. Afterwards he got a cloth to wipe Sybil's neck and face. Once her equilibrium was sufficient to return to the bedroom, Tom helped her back to bed and got her to lie down.

Sybil's mother and sisters were standing dumbfounded in her bedroom. Someone had moved to turn down the bed, but they had no idea what to do with a Lady's husband who took care of her while she was ill.

"My mother and sisters will see to me. Why don't you go down and get me some tea?" Sybil said to her husband.

"All right," he said brushing the hair back from her forehead and placing a kiss on it. "Do you want anything else?"

"No, tea will be fine," Sybil said with a weak smile.

Tom left the women alone while he went on a quest for tea.

"We could have just rang for it," Mary said to her sister. She was helping Sybil to finish undressing and get into her nightdress.

"He's such a worrier, it will give him something to do," Sybil said.

"Is it really motion sickness?" Mary inquired.

"That and being pregnant," Sybil replied. She sighed and closed her eyes once she was changed. Edith had fetched a damp cloth from the washroom. Lady Cora wiped Sybil's forehead, neck and hands while she drifted off to sleep.

When Tom left the room, he headed down the hall until he found the door to the servants' staircase. He headed to the kitchen to make his wife a cup of tea. When he stepped through the door. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing.

"Mr. Branson was there something you needed?" Mrs. Hughes looked up from the book she was checking.

"My wife isn't feeling well, she needs some tea and dry toast," Tom said. He was a bit self-conscious with the room full of eyes trained on him. "I was just going to make it for her."

"There's no need. We will see to it," Mrs. Hughes said. Two of the kitchen maids were already scurrying to fill his request.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Tom said with a small nod. He retreated from the kitchen into the hallway and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He had not been prepared for how difficult a two-day visit to the Abbey would really be.

Mrs. Hughes stepped into the hallway to find him there supporting himself with one hand against the wall.

"You're part of upstairs now," she said trying to be as kind as possible. "You have to try and do things their way, at least while you're here."

Tom only nodded. He didn't seem so cheeky now as he had done in the past. He obviously needed a moment to collect himself.

"Why don't you come to my sitting room?" she offered. "We could catch up for a moment."

Tom nodded again. Mrs. Hughes gave instructions to one of the passing maids to bring tea and sandwiches through to her sitting room.

"And use the good china," Tom overheard her say.

"How have you been?" Mrs. Hughes inquired when they were seated.

"Fine. Busy with work and family," Tom replied.

"How is Lady Sybil? Did she enjoy Dublin?"

"She liked it well enough. Her work at the hospital kept her busy. She took a few courses at the local college. She's been off work since the beginning of December."

"If you don't mind me saying so, we were all surprised when she wrote you were coming for a visit."

"Sybil misses her family. I've taken a transfer to London at least for a while. She'll be able to see more of them."

"And so will you," Mrs. Hughes reminded him gently.

"They mostly ignore me," Tom said.

"How did your family treat your wife when you first arrived?"

"About the same," Tom confessed. "They came around though after… Well, my wife did something they admired."

They chatted for a few more minutes while they had some tea. Tom devoured most of the sandwiches. He was feeling a great deal better after talking to Mrs. Hughes. He had been so nervous over the last few days about the visit he had barely been able to eat.

When he entered the great hall, he ran into Lady Cora.

"There you are, Tom," she said. "Are you getting settled?"

"I was talking to Mrs. Hughes," Tom replied. "Lady Cora, where are my things? I didn't see them when I was in Sybil's room earlier."

"We prepared one of the other rooms for you. I can have Carson show you where it is."

Tom and Sybil had discussed the possibility of her parents trying to separate them during their visit. They had decided to squash the idea immediately.

"Lady Cora, I'm afraid I must insist, Sybil and I stay together," Tom said. "I need to be available to her if she needs anything through the night." He was feeling less intimidated since his talk with Mrs. Hughes and starting to return to his old self.

"I'll have your bags moved," Lady Cora said, not quite sure what to make of her son-in-law.

"Thank you. If you'll excuse me I'll just go and check on Sybil."

"She was sleeping when I left her," Lady Cora said.

"I'll just look in on her then."

Once Tom had checked on Sybil and found that she was in fact fast asleep, he headed back down stairs and went to the library. It was the only room in the house he was really familiar with. He could kill a couple hours reading if nothing else.

When he entered the library he was surprised to find Lord Grantham there working at his desk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," Tom said.

"You're not disturbing me. Come in," Lord Grantham said. "How is Sybil?"

"Sleeping. She'll be fine. She is just tired from packing and the trip."

"My wife says you've taken a position in London?"

"A transfer really. The paper wanted someone in London covering parliament. The last man returned to Ireland two weeks ago."

"I see. Any thought to where you are going to stay."

"We had planned to rent a flat or a small house," Tom said. His father-in-law was formal and distant, but concerned for his daughter's welfare at the same time. At least Tom hoped that was what was driving this line of questions.

"Will you be able to afford that?"

"The transfer comes with a significant raise in salary," Tom replied. "Sybil and the baby will be well provided for."

"Why the sudden interest in working in England? I thought you were set on living in Ireland."

"It's not safe in Ireland. There is too much violence. I want Sybil and the baby safe. I'll do what it takes to make sure she is protected," Tom said. Without thinking about it he had tensed, his natural protective instincts kicking in.

"You kept an eye on her while you were in Ireland?"

"I did. Since last summer I made sure she had someone with her whenever she went out. If I couldn't be there one of my uncles or a cousin saw to her. She didn't like it, but she had no choice."

"Things were as bad as all that?"

"The risings come and go. We lived in a relatively calm part of the city. Still it was better to be safe than sorry later. Would you mind if I borrowed one of the cars this afternoon. I promised Rory's mother I would go and check on him."

"That's the boy that's working for the Drakes isn't it? I'll go with you," Lord Grantham replied. "I've been wanting to take a look at some cattle Drake just purchased." He was regarding Tom coolly with an appraising eye. "Has my daughter been happy?"

"Yes, I believe so," Tom replied. "She's been busy with the hospital and taking some extra training. We lived in a small flat. There wasn't much work to keep it up and I did most of it."

"So she was cared for then?"

"She still is," Tom replied. "I won't let anyone hurt her." His words had a double edge meaning.

"Yes, humpf," Lord Grantham said before turning back to his papers.

Tom looked at a few of the books in the library until Carson came through and announced luncheon. Tom headed back up the stairs to check on Sybil. She was still fast asleep. There was nothing for it, but he would have to go to lunch with the family by himself.

He made his way downstairs to what he hoped was the dining room. He opened the door and walked in. The family all turned to look at him.

"Sybil's still sleeping," he said.

"Come and take a seat beside Edith," Lady Cora said.

Tom nodded and quickly took his seat. Carson looked at him disapprovingly but continued to serve the meal.

"Are you looking forward to your new position in London?" Lady Cora asked him politely.

"Yes, I am," he replied. "I'll be reporting on parliament, specifically the debates concerning Ireland and the labor movement. There's a great deal going on these days. It will keep me busy."

"Have you arranged a place to stay?" Lady Cora inquired.

"Of course they have, Mama," Mary said sweetly. "He thinks of everything."

"Actually No, Lady Cora," Tom replied ignoring Mary. "We've booked a hotel and will look for a place when we arrive."

"You and Sybil could easily stay with my sister-in-law Rosamund," Lady Cora said. "She has a huge house that is almost empty."

Tom opened his mouth to decline and thought better of it.

"Perhaps you could discuss it with Sybil," he said. "I'll leave it up to her."

"What about our London house Mama," Edith said. "It's sitting there empty."

"Edith," her father said slightly annoyed. "I hardly think it would be appropriate. They don't have any servants."

"Lots of people are giving up their servants," Edith said looking at her plate. "It's a big empty house. You've been talking about selling it. I just thought they could use it."

"We don't want to impose," Tom said at last.

"We'll discuss it later," Lord Grantham stated.


	14. A Visitor

A Visitor

After luncheon Lord Grantham had the car brought around. Tom groaned a bit at the thought of being driven about in a chauffeur driven limousine when he was perfectly capable of driving himself. He reminded himself that he needed to put up and shut up when it came to his wife's family.

"Why the interest in this young man?" Lord Grantham inquired when they were almost to the Drake farm.

"He's more a boy than a young man," Tom answered. "Sybil took a shine to him. His mother is a neighbor of my mother's. He was headed for trouble until Sybil took an interest in him."

"I thought you said Sybil was protected in Ireland?" his father-in-law challenged him.

"She was. Rory just needed a little guidance. Essentially he's a good lad."

Lord Grantham gave his son-in-law an appraising look. He never quite knew what to make of the man.

Mrs. Drake came hurrying out of the house when she saw the car pull into the yard.

"Lord Grantham, we weren't expecting you," she said with a curtsey. "My husband is in one of the out buildings. I'll just go and fetch him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Drake," Lord Grantham said. "May I present my son-in-law, Tom Branson."

"How do you do?" Tom said.

"Lady Sybil's husband?" Mrs. Drake inquired.

"Yes."

"Rory's done nothing but talk about you and Lady Sybil since he arrived," she said.

"Nothing too terrible, I hope," Tom said with a smile.

Just then Rory came around the corner of a building followed by a pack of the Drake's children.

"Tom," he called and jogged across the yard. He grabbed the older man's hand and threw an arm around him. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," Tom said with a smile.

Rory flushed.

"You didn't have to. I'm not in any trouble."

"I didn't expect you were," Tom said. "This is my father-in-law, Lord Grantham."

"Hello, Sir," Rory looked down turning beet red. "Thank you for finding me this job."

"I trust you aren't letting my daughter's faith in you down," Lord Grantham said.

Rory's headshot up and his chest puffed out slightly.

"Oh no, sir. I owe Sybil, I mean Mrs. Branson, everything," he replied. Since he'd been at the farm, Rory's chest and arms were starting to fill out. He'd lost the sullen look he'd had back in Ireland.

"You're looking well," Tom said to Rory.

John Drake arrived on the scene and after the introductions were made took Lord Grantham to see the cattle he was interested in. Rory wanted to drag Tom off to show him the farm. Lord Grantham could hear the two of them conversing in Irish. He watched his son-in-law's retreating back through narrowed eyes.

"That boy has a terrible case of hero worship for your son-in-law," John Drake commented.

"I hope the boy hasn't been any trouble," Lord Grantham commented.

"He's no trouble at all. He's a good lad, hard working and eager enough. There wasn't anything wrong with him a little hard work and fresh air wouldn't fix. He seems to think the sun rises and sets on Mr. Branson. Rory told us after a bit he had been in some trouble in Ireland. His father is long since gone. Mr. Branson got ahold of him and told him if he ever did anything stupid again he wouldn't have to worry about the police because he would find him first. Took him under his wing from what Rory says."

Lord Grantham's eyes opened slightly. "I would hardly think my son-in-law would be a role model for a troubled boy," he thought to himself.

Rory was busy showing Tom the tractor he had learned to drive. The Drake's had purchased a lorry as well and Rory had the task of driving it around the farm.

"Your Ma wanted to know why you haven't written," Tom commented in Irish.

"I need to think some things over," Rory said. "You know how she feels about the English."

"You haven't been in trouble since you've been here have you?"

"No! I don't really know anymore why I was being so stupid."

"Not stupid, just going about things the wrong way," Tom said. "Freedom for Ireland is a worthy goal, just not as a thug. It will get you killed. You still need to write to your Ma."

"I know. Where's Sybil?"

"She's at the Abbey. She's tired from the trip. We only arrived this morning. She'll be mad when she finds out I came to see you without her. You can go up and see her. We'll be there for two more days."

"I can't go there!"

"Why ever not?"

"They're all Lords and Ladies. They won't want _me_ there."

"They don't bite. Even if you think they might sometimes," Tom said. "You haven't told your mother about Sybil's family have you?"

"No and I'm not going to. She would never understand."

"No she wouldn't," Tom agreed, "and it would just make problems for my mother and us if we decide to go back to Dublin."

"I won't do that," Rory declared.

The next afternoon Rory dutifully arrived at the front door of Downton Abbey. He was wearing his best clothes. A butler with a huge nose and giant busy eyebrows opened the door.

"Deliveries are around the back," he said when he saw the young man nervously twisting his cap on the doorstep.

"I've come to see Mrs. Branson," Rory squeaked out. "Her husband said I should come."

Carson gave him a disapproving frown.

"Wait here. I will see if she's available."

Rory sat on a chair just inside the door and twisted his hat even harder. His eyes were like saucers at the size of the house. He was sweating profusely and wanted to bolt out the door.

Sybil came waddling around the corner in a minute and broke into a huge smile when she saw him.

"Rory, I'm so glad you've come," she said wrapping him in a hug. "I could have choked Tom when he went to see you yesterday without me. Come in the drawing room. I want to hear everything about how you're making out."

Rory dutifully followed Sybil to the drawing room. His head was on a swivel. He felt like he was going to faint.

"Have a seat," Sybil said. "I'm afraid Tom isn't here. My parents are having guests tonight and he's off getting some evening attire. My grandmother almost had a seizure last night when he wore a suit to dinner."

Rory was so shocked by the house and Sybil's family situation he couldn't speak. The butler reappeared carrying a massive silver tray with a tea service on it and set it on a side table. He left when Sybil told him to just leave it they would see to tea themselves. Sybil shushed Rory over to a small table by the window and poured him a cup of tea.

"Now tell me about the farm," Sybil said. Sitting at the table Rory finally came out of his shock and started telling Sybil about his job and new life. Once he started to relax and realized she was the same woman who had tended to him back in Dublin, he became more animated and enthusiastically related the details of his new existence.

"Have you given any thought to what you want to do with your life?" Sybil asked him.

"I think I'd like to be a doctor," Rory told her shyly, "but I don't see how that could be now. I messed up pretty bad."

"It's a fine ambition," Sybil said. "Your past is just that. The past. Your future is what matters now. You leave it to me and I'll make some enquiries. You know it would take a lot of work to become a doctor?"

Rory nodded and blushed slightly.

"I was good at school. I only finished a little more than a year ago."

"You wait here," Sybil said. She got up and waddled off.

After a few minutes the door opened and a middle-aged woman and a dark haired lady came into the room. Rory stood up quickly. His eyes darted every which way as though he were caught somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

"Hello, who are you," said the older lady with an American accent.

"I'm Rory Lester, Mrs. Branson said to wait here," his Irish brogue and nervousness weren't lost on Sybil's mother and older sister.

"Then you should wait," Lady Cora said with a smile. She retrieved her needlework and both women left the room.

Sybil waddled back and handed Rory a book on anatomy from her nursing training.

"You could start by reading this," Sybil said. "It is not as complex as what you would read at medical school, but it's a start."

"Sybil?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you always so nice to me?"

"Because you fell at my feet like an injured bird and you remind me a lot of my husband."

Rory's chest puffed out a little at her words.

"Do you really think I'm like Tom?"

"Yes, I do."

"I want to be just like him." The hero worship was evident in his statement.

"Not just like him," Sybil corrected gently. "You need to be just like you. I'll tell you a secret."

"What is it?" Rory's eyes got bigger.

"My husband hates potatoes. Now what kind of Irishman is that, who hates potatoes?"

Rory started to laugh.

"The kind who doesn't join the group I got involved in," he joked back.

"Precisely," Sybil replied.

Sybil walked Rory out when it was time for him to leave. He had a horse tethered outside. He thanked her again for the book before he mounted and rode off.

"Who was that boy?" her mother inquired as Sybil was coming back into the house.

"Just the son of my mother-in-law's neighbor," Sybil said. "Tom and I have been looking out for him a bit. He needed a little direction."

"I hope he's not some kind of a rebel," Lady Cora said looking concerned.

"He's not a Rebel anymore," Sybil replied. "Almost getting killed changed his mind."

"What?" Lady Cora squeaked.

"He was member of the Irish Volunteers. He got shot and I saved his life. It changed his mind about a few things."

"And you sent him here!"

"He's a good boy, Mama. He just had his head on wrong for a while."

"Sybil, you should be more careful."

"I am careful, Mama. He's not a rebel anymore. He wants to be a doctor and I plan to help him."

"Good gracious," Lady Cora said. "What kind of life were you leading in Ireland?"

"One that mattered," Sybil replied before she waddled upstairs for a nap.


	15. How Much Work Can It Be?

How Much Work Can It Be?

By late afternoon Tom had returned from his shopping trip and joined Sybil in his bedroom. Lord Grantham knocked on the door. Tom opened the door to his father-in-law looking like a thundercloud.

"Your mother told me that boy was by today."

"Yes, Papa. Rory came to see me today."

"What right do you have to invite a rebel to my home?" he demanded of Tom.

"The boy isn't a member of the Irish Volunteers any more," Tom said calmly. "He's just a boy who needed help. He still does if he is to live a life without violence. Sybil is fond of him and she wanted to see him."

"I don't want his kind of rebel scum on my property," Lord Grantham fumed.

"And what would you know about it?" Tom was angry and his voice was rising. "For every boy like him there are hundreds of others, beaten to death by the soldiers or thrown in jail and hanged. They're young, angry and a prime target for the worst kind of men. They prey on them and turn them into thugs. They aren't the kind of men who organize and fight for a cause. They're the worst of the worst. If I can do something to stop one of them from living that life, I will."

"Papa, Tom, please," Sybil said trying to calm the situation. Her father's face bore the signs of shock at Tom's words. Tom was the first one to attempt to make amends.

"I'm sorry if his presence here upset you," Tom said. "That boy has been fed a steady diet of hate. He honestly thought you would shoot him if he came here. I thought the best to undo some of it was to prove to him there is nothing to fear. Despite the house and all the rest of it, this is just a home with a normal family."

Sybil's father found a chair and sat down.

"Is it really that bad in Ireland?" Lord Grantham questioned.

"For some it is, Papa," Sybil said. "I've seen it first hand in the hospital. At first Rory was so afraid of me, he didn't want me touch him. I saw that a lot at work. He's a bright boy. He wants to further his studies. I'm encouraging him to do that."

"I've told you repeatedly that I'm not a rebel," Tom said. "Maybe now you can see that I'm not."

"And what is it you plan to do for him?" Lord Grantham questioned.

"He told me he would like to study medicine," Sybil replied. "I thought I would make some enquires and find out what entrance courses he needs. Perhaps he could do some of them through correspondence."

"Rory needs what he's getting now," Tom volunteered. "Decent men to act as role models, hard work and life away from Dublin."

"I see your point," Lord Grantham said. The anger had gone out of him at Tom and Sybil's words. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

Lord Grantham got up to leave the room. He stopped at the door.

"Your mother wants to discuss your living arrangements in London. Perhaps you could come down in a few minutes to the library."

"Certainly, Papa," Sybil replied.

Tom and Sybil entered the library a short while later to find Lord Grantham and Lady Cora waiting for them.

Sybil took a seat while Tom remained standing slightly behind her. He was going to try his best to keep his mouth shut during the meeting and let Sybil do the talking.

"Your mother and I have been discussing your living arrangements," Lord Grantham said. "I am prepared to offer you the use of our house in London for as long as you desire."

Sybil gasped excitedly and looked at Tom.

"There will be a few conditions," Lord Grantham continued. "I will not be providing staff and you will need to cover the expenses of running the house yourself."

"Papa, are you certain?" Sybil asked. She was excited of the prospect of running her own house.

"Yes, you may run the house as you like. Just don't burn it to the ground," he teased.

"Tom, can we?" Sybil asked.

"I have no objection as long as we can manage it financially," Tom said. "I've told you before it doesn't matter to me the size of the house or where we live. As long as you're happy."

"There is another matter," Lord Grantham said. "I have decided to release Sybil's settlement in full."

"Oh Papa," Sybil exclaimed in excitement. She bounced out of her chair as fast as her protruding stomach would allow and hugged her father. Then kissed her mother's cheek.

Lord Grantham extended his hand to Tom.

"You've proven yourself to be a reliable husband to my daughter. I see no benefit in continued hostility."

"Thank you, sir," Tom said as he shook Lord Grantham's hand. "I'll do my best to live up to your faith in me."

"See that you do," Lord Grantham needled him.

Two days later Tom and Sybil got off the train in London. Lady Cora had ordered two food hampers from the kitchens for them to take with them to set up house. There was no way to handle the mountain of luggage other then to hire a cab. Even then they were squeezed in with the pile of items that had been sent along. When they pulled up in front of the London home of the Crawley's Tom's jaw dropped.

"Sybil, there is no way we are ever going to be able to afford to heat that," he said pointing at the house.

"Oh don't be silly," Sybil said. "We have lots of money now and besides how many rooms do we really need? We don't have to use all of them."

They headed for the door. The cab driver was busy unloading their pile of luggage onto the curb. The door opened and Lady Rosamund's butler greeted them.

"Lady Sybil. We've laid a fire in the library and dining room. Myself and two other staff are at your disposal for the day."

"Thank you Jervis," Sybil said. "For now perhaps you could assist my husband with getting our things into the house."

"Certainly, milady," he said in a deadpan tone.

"Good heavens," Tom said once the luggage was brought inside and he had a moment to look around. "We can't possibly use all this."

"I need to rest a bit," Sybil said. "Then we can go through the house and decide which rooms we would like to use and which ones will remain closed. It is furnished, which certainly cuts down on expenses."

Tom only grimaced.

By the end of the day, they had made the circuit of the house and instructed the staff sent over by Sybil's aunt to put the dust covers back on over half the furniture. When they were done, they had a front hallway, dining room, library and powder room open on the main floor, two bedrooms and a bath upstairs, as they would soon need a bedroom for the baby and only the kitchen and larder downstairs. The rest of the house would remain closed.

"I feel better about the house now," Tom said. "It's more like a normal house with oversized rooms."

"It's still going to be more work than the flat in Dublin," Sybil said.

"I don't want to touch your settlement. I hope we can managed the expenses on what I make."

"Well, we can certainly try," Sybil replied. "Don't you even want to see how much the check is for?"

"No, not particularly. We've managed this long without any help. Put it away for posterity."

"You're such a gold digger," Sybil said wrapping her arms around Tom.

"I am that," he said with a grin.

Sybil was bored out of her mind during the last two months of her pregnancy. When she wasn't stuck in bed resting, she ventured out around London on the trams. She paid a visit to two of the medical schools and got a list of courses required for admission for Rory plus some course catalogues. She sent him a large package and a letter encouraging him not to get discouraged by the requirements. As well Sybil wrote letters to Ireland and sent a note to her mother and sisters inviting them to visit in London.

Even though the house was much larger than their flat, the housework occupied only a small fraction of Sybil's time. Tom insisted on doing the heavy work even though his hours were much longer than they had been in Ireland. When Sybil's due date approached her mother announced she would be coming to London for the arrival with her ladies' maid and two other maids in tow.

"It's just a baby," Tom had complained when he heard about his mother-in-law's impending visit. "How much extra work can it be?"

Sybil was happy at the prospect of extra company to help her alleviate the boredom. The day before Lady Cora was set to arrive, Sybil was reading in the library when she felt something trickling down her leg.

"Oh no, not now," she exclaimed. She went to the main floor powder room to retrieve a towel to wipe up the mess when the first contraction hit. By the time the second one arrived less than a minute later, Sybil knew she was in trouble. Tom arrived home less than two hours later to find his wife on the floor of the library in advanced labor.

"I'll ring for the doctor," he said.

"No," Sybil cried. "Don't leave me." She had a death grip on his hand.

"Doctor or not. We're going to need some things," Tom said. He had been present when babies were born in Ireland but this was his own child and he was feeling panicked. He finally convinced Sybil to let go of him long enough to telephone the doctor and retrieve some clean towels and something to tie the cord.

By the time the doctor arrived twenty minutes later, mother and son were laying on the floor wrapped in a blanket. The baby was wrapped in a towel and Tom was busy wiping up the mess from where Sybil's water had broke. Once everyone was cleaned up, checked over and pronounced in good health, Tom got Sybil upstairs to bed and moved the cradle into their room. He went back downstairs and got himself a glass of whiskey before he began the long task of cleaning up the mess in the library.

He flopped into bed worn out with the events of the evening to be awoken two hours later by the squalls of a new born. He got up, changed the baby's diaper and took him to Sybil for feeding. While Sybil tried to get the baby to feed Tom rinsed out the diaper in the washroom, then went downstairs to find a pail to soak it. By the time he got back upstairs, Sybil was almost sobbing in frustration.

"I don't know how to do this," she wept.

"Hush now, calm down," he said. He took the baby from Sybil and dabbed the corner of clean cloth in a glass of water and gave it to the baby to suck as he's seen women back home do. The infant started sucking almost right away. He handed the baby back to Sybil slowly slipping the cloth out of the baby's mouth as the baby gradually accepted her nipple.

"Ouch, it hurts," Sybil said.

"I don't know if its supposed to hurt," Tom said ruefully. "You can ask your mother when she arrives tomorrow."

"Tom honestly, my mother would never discuss such a thing."

"We don't even have a name picked out yet."

"Maybe Ryan," Sybil suggested.

"Riordan," said Tom. "It means royal poet."

"That's lovely," Sybil said.

The infant had finished eating and was drifting back to sleep.

"He has to be burped," Tom said.

"How do you know so much about babies?" Sybil asked.

Tom had taken the baby and was gently rubbing his back.

"You've seen my collection of cousins. There are cousins on top of cousins. Someone is always having a baby."

They got the baby settled again and went back to bed, only to be woken four hours later by more crying.

By the time Tom went to the train to meet Lady Cora the next day he was worn out. He hadn't even attempted to wash all the towels from the previous night and he had to go in to watch a session of parliament in two hours.

"Lady Cora, I'm so glad you're here," Tom blurted out in greeting the minute he saw his mother-in-law.

"Tom, what's wrong?" Lady Cora asked. Her son-in-law looked terrible and she wondered if he had even shaved before coming to collect her.

"Nothing is wrong. The baby arrived last night. I'm afraid there hasn't been much time for sleep or anything else since the arrival. The house is a bit of a mess."

"How are Sybil and the baby," Lady Cora asked.

"Both fine. It's a little boy. We're calling him Riordan."

By the time they had the luggage and the maids collected they required two cabs to get everyone to the house. The maids got straight to work, lighting the fires in the downstairs rooms, preparing the lunch and starting the wash. Tom had never been so glad to see anyone.

"It's just a little baby, how much work can it be?" he mocked himself under his breath. The worst was it was only the first day.


	16. Tea and Honesty

Tea and Honesty

Before Lady Cora and her flotilla of maids left for Downton, Tom had written to his mother asking her to find a girl in Ireland to send down to help with the baby and the house. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, the tiny life that was his son's was taking enough energy to keep an army of maids busy.

By late spring 1919 sixteen year old Lauren arrived from Ireland and took up residence in the servant's quarters. Tom and Sybil's life was getting back to a routine. A letter arrived from Rory to say he had interviews with two of the medical schools in London and wondered if he could stay with them for the week of the interviews. Sybil was on the telephone as soon as she read the letter and was quite pleased with herself by the time Tom got home that evening.

"We're going to have some company," Sybil informed Tom.

"Oh, like who?" he inquired.

"It's a surprise. They'll be here in two days."

"Am I to make time for this company?"

"Yes, please as much as you can for the week."

"I'm here to do your bidding, milady," Tom quipped.

"Just see that you do," Sybil replied.

Rory Lester pulled the lorry into one of the out buildings and began unloading sacks when Mrs. Drake came into the shed waving a small envelope at him.

"Lord Grantham's driver was by and left this for you." She was clearly excited. The Drake's had never received a personal note from anyone of Lord Grantham's status and it was an event.

Rory wiped his hands before he took the envelope. It was a heavy paper that was obviously expensive. The envelope was embossed with the Earl's coat of arms and was addressed to Rory Lester, Esquire.

"What does he want with me?" Rory asked.

"Open it and find out," Mrs. Drake said. Her eyes were dancing in excitement.

Rory staggered back a bit before he found a crate to sit on.

"I've been invited to tea, tomorrow with Lord and Lady Grantham," he said handing the note to Mrs. Drake.

"Goodness gracious," she said. "This is quite an honor. I wonder what brought this on."

"I can't go. I saw Sybil's mother once and I almost threw up."

"You'll go and you'll be on your best behavior," Mrs. Drake informed him. She had learned with Rory to treat him as she would one of her own. For all his frequent displays of cockiness and trying to be what he thought a man was, underneath it all he was a frightened boy. "I'll wash your good shirt today and you'll take a bath tomorrow before you go."

"All right," he said sulkily.

"All right, what?"

"Yes, Mrs. Drake. I'll go," he corrected himself.

"That's better," she said. "You just mind your manners and you'll do fine."

There was a great deal of excitement at the Drake farm about Rory's invitation. Two of the children groomed the horse, and another polished Rory's shoes while he got cleaned up. Before he left for his appointment with Lord and Lady Grantham he stood in the kitchen for inspection.

"You look grand," John Drake told him. "Good enough for those toffs. You'll do fine."

"Now mind you don't eat like there's a pack of wolves at the door," Mrs. Drake told him. "We don't want them to think we're starving you." She gave him a quick hug. "We're right proud of you," she said quietly so no one else could hear.

Rory blushed at the praise and hurried off for his appointment.

"If anyone had told me a year ago, a wild Irish boy would be working here and be like our own son I would have thought they were daft," Mrs. Drake said.

"It's providence," John Drake replied.

"That it is."

When Rory arrived at the Abbey a stable boy a little younger than himself approached to take his horse.

"I'll see to your horse, Sir," he said.

Rory was so flabbergasted he didn't know what to reply. He was shown into the drawing room where Lord Grantham, the middle aged woman he had met before who he assumed was Sybil's mother and a very old lady with a fancy walking stick were waiting for him.

"Do come in," Lord Grantham said. "I believe you have met my wife before, the Countess Grantham. This is my mother Lady Grantham."

"How do you do you?" Rory was able to squeak out.

Lady Grantham's eyes narrowed at Rory's appearance. The boy was scrubbed clean and his blonde hair was neatly combed. He was a nice looking boy with blue eyes but had obviously grown and filled out since his last trip to the shops to buy clothing.

"This will never do, Robert," Lady Grantham stated. "He can't go to an interview in London looking like that."

"Now mother," Lord Grantham scolded her. "They are interested in his mind, not in how he dresses."

Lady Cora ignored her mother-in-law and smiled kindly at Rory. She rose and approached him.

"It's nice to see you again, Rory," she said. "Won't you have a seat?" She sat on a chair closer to him.

Rory swallowed and nodded and sat on the edge of the chair she indicated. He was so nervous his legs were shaking.

"Lady Sybil has telephoned to tell us you will be interviewing next week for medical school," Lord Grantham said.

"Yes, Sir," Rory squeaked. His naturally fair complexion had gone stark white and he looked like he was going to faint.

"Carson, do give him a cup of tea. He looks like he is going to be ill," Lady Grantham demanded.

"I've been told you were in some trouble before you left Ireland and involved with a less than favorable crowd," Lord Grantham said.

Rory's eyes went wild. He shifted his eyes left and right to see if the police were about to pounce from a corner of the room.

"I have also been told that you have left that all behind you. Have you?"

"Yes, Sir. I haven't been in any trouble in the last year. I swear."

"Settle down," Lord Grantham said. "We haven't asked you here for any nefarious purposes. I am prepared to offer you a personal letter of recommendation for your interview as long as you can swear to us that you will never be involved in criminal activity again."

"I'll never be involved with that crowd again. I'll work hard and make you proud. I give you my word. Thank you, Sir."

"Now, do try to settle down," Lady Cora said. "You look as though you expect to have the dogs set upon you at any second."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," he blurted. "it's just that..." he trailed off.

"We're not quite what you expected?" Lord Grantham asked.

"No Sir."

"I can assure you, my family is not interested in persecuting anyone," Lord Grantham said. "Now we can have some tea and you can tell us which universities you will be interviewing for."

Rory nodded. The color was starting to come back into his face. During the meal he watched how Lord Grantham held his cup and used his utensils. Rory's movements were a perfect imitation of the Earl's.

"I'm traveling to London tomorrow to see my grandson. I'd like you to accompany me," Lord Grantham told Rory before he left. "I'll send a note around to the Drake's to arrange it."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Rory said.

Rory had the letter of recommendation inside his jacket pocket and his heart was beating almost out of his chest. He was in total shock from the afternoon's events. When he got back to the Drake's he dismounted and went in to find Mrs. Drake.

"Well, what happened?" Mrs. Drake inquired. Her husband came in from the yard as well. All of the children gathered around the table to hear the tale.

"Lord Grantham has given me his personal recommendation," Rory said handing the letter to Mrs. Drake. "He wants me to go to London with him tomorrow." Rory was sitting at the table staring straight ahead.

"Gracious," Mrs. Drake said after she had read the letter and handed it to her husband.

"What did you do to get him to offer you that," Mr. Drake asked.

"Not much," Rory replied. "I just told the truth."


	17. Shades of Grey

Shades of Grey

Rory's time in London was a flurry of activity. Lord Grantham had shown up with Rory in tow and left him in the care of Tom and Sybil while he went to stay with Lady Rosamund. The next afternoon, Lady Rosamund's chauffeur had arrived with instructions for "Mr. Lester" to accompany him.

Rory had balked at going with the man until Tom stepped in.

"They're going to a lot of trouble for you. Be gracious and accept it," Tom said.

"I can never pay them back," Rory said woefully.

"They expect you to work hard and be a better man. The money isn't important to them."

Rory squared his shoulders and dutifully did as Tom instructed. Later that day he showed up wearing a new suit and shoes with another box under his arm. His hair was freshly cut.

"You look very handsome," Sybil said. "All set for your interview?"

Rory nodded with a huge grin on his face. Lauren, the girl from Ireland, Tom and Sybil had hired to help with the baby, giggled and blushed when she saw Rory in his new suit. He was the first Irish boy she had seen since her arrival in England and she thought he was dead gorgeous. Rory blushed at her attention but he was much too worried about his two interviews to pay her much mind.

On the day of the first interview Tom accompanied Rory to the university. Rory was so nervous his hands shook. When they were together away from other people they fell into the habit of speaking Irish.

"Calm down," Tom told him while they were sitting in the waiting room. "You made it through tea with my in-laws. After that this will be nothing. Old Lady Grantham could put the PM to shame."

After the interview they left the building. There was a large crowd gathered in the courtyard. Boos and hisses were coming from the crowd.

"Let's get out of here. I don't like the look of it," Tom said in Irish.

One of the men in the crowd who looked to be around twenty years old or so turned to him and yelled, "Dirty Irish Pig, what are you doing here. You have no business taking the seats in this university. Go back over the sea where you belong."

Rory's hands balled into fists and he made to lunge at the other man. Tom was too fast for him and reached out and grabbed Rory by the scruff of the neck before he could take another step. Rory was fighting against Tom's grip, but Tom was older and heavier set. He couldn't break free.

"Let me go!" he demanded.

"No," Tom stated. "You settle down and get ahold of yourself."

"What's the matter, your big brother doesn't want you getting hurt?" the young man taunted.

Rory went to lunge at him again.

"Stop it," Tom said still in Irish. He gave Rory a shake. "Think about this. You're better than he is. You're here with a personal recommendation from my father-in-law. Do you think that kind of scum can say that? There are other ways to fight."

The fight went out of Rory, Tom kept his hand on Rory's shoulder as they turned to make their way through the crowd. The young man who had been taunting Rory moved to grab Tom's arm. His mouth was open to make another remark. Tom turned to look at the younger man who had grabbed him.

"I suggest you remove your hand from my arm or I will summon the constable and have you arrested for assault," Tom said. His face was like stone and his eyes were like two glowing blue sapphires.

"And who do you think you are?" the belligerent bully demanded.

"The person who will prosecute you under the law and have you barred from this university," Tom stated.

The man paled slightly at the threat and removed his hand. Tom turned and strode out of the crowd.

"You should have hit him," Rory said.

"Now why would I do that? I'm not going to prison for scum like that."

"But he called us names and grabbed you!"

"So what? It's not the first time."

"I thought you stood for something! I thought you fought for Ireland!" Rory was getting more upset by the minute. The stress of the interview and the confrontation in the courtyard were pushing him towards a breaking point.

"I do. I just pick my battles."

"No, you acted like a coward!" Rory was getting more and more upset by the minute. The tears were running down his face. He turned and ran off down the street.

"Rory!" Tom called after him. "Dammit," Tom swore to himself. He hailed a cab and headed for home. Today he didn't feel like taking the tram.

"Where's Rory?" Sybil asked when Tom got home.

"Not here," Tom replied. "There was a bit of an incident at the university. He got upset and ran off."

"Oh no," Sybil said.

"He'll be back when he cools down."

Sybil worried and fretted the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

"He has to learn to control his temper if he's going to make it," Tom said. "We've done all we can. It's up to him now."

"He's come so far in a short time," Sybil said.

"I think that's part of the problem. He needs to process it. I had years to realize your family wasn't the ogres I expected them to be. He's only had a few months."

"I guess your right," Sybil said. She went out in the back garden to get some air for a few minutes. Rory was sitting on the low stonewall by the garage the picture of dejection.

"What are you doing out here?" Sybil questioned him.

"Thinking."

"Have you been fighting?" Sybil asked looking directly at him.

"No. I wanted to but Tom stopped me."

"Is that the problem?"

"Part of it."

"What's the other part?"

"I don't belong here."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way people look at me when they hear my voice and the things they say."

"Like the way people look at me in Ireland when they hear mine?"

Rory's head shot up.

"Do remember the day you got shot? What your mother said about me?"

"She didn't say it in English."

"I understand most things in Irish, even though I don't speak it very well. It still hurt, _M'éan -_ _My bird_."

Rory remembered almost every second of that day. He definitely remembered his mother calling Sybil an English slut. Sybil hadn't let it deter her from what she was doing.

"Tom's worried about you," Sybil said.

Rory remained silent.

"How was the interview?"

"All right I guess. They asked a lot of questions."

"Do you want to go there to study?"

"Maybe."

"What's changed your mind about the place?"

"There was a crowd outside. They were not overly friendly."

"The entire crowd or one or two people."

"One or two."

"You're going to have to live with it. Not everyone is going to like you where ever you go."

"I guess you're right," Rory sighed.

"The world isn't black and white, Rory. You're getting too old to think it is. Now I suggest you go in and take care of your suit. My father went to a great deal of trouble to make you _presentable,_ as Granny would say. " Sybil had imitated her grandmother's accent perfectly.

Rory hopped off the fence.

"Do I look _presentable,_ _Lady Sybil_?" he said with a chuckle.

"Sometimes," Sybil said looping her arm through his as they headed into the house.

"So, you're back," Tom said to Rory, not looking up from the transcript he was reading.

"Yeah. Sorry I acted like a fool," Rory said sheepishly.

"It happens. Be ready for seven-tomorrow morning and clean your room. Your Ma isn't here to pick up after you and Lauren isn't going to do it."

"Yes, Sir," Rory mumbled feeling foolish.

"Rory," Tom said, he waited until Rory was looking at him. "Tomorrow I'll show you how I fight."

Rory ran up the stairs two at a time.

* * *

Parliament was an imposing sight from the outside. Rory gulped as they approached the press entrance. Tom was carrying a small leather satchel over his shoulder with his notebook and papers inside. He signed Rory in then joined a line up of men being frisked.

"Some of them are just walking right in," Rory said.

"Technically we're foreigners. We aren't the only ones."

Once they were inside Tom headed towards a room where a press conference was about to begin.

"You will remain silent and hold your temper, no matter what," Tom said to Rory before they went in. "Do I make myself clear."

Rory gulped and nodded. He followed Tom into the room and took a seat at the back of the room. Tom moved up and took a seat in the second row. One of the Tory ministers came in who was highly vocal in his stand against Irish independence. Rory recognized his name from the papers. Even though he didn't read the newspaper everyday, the man's name was well known. The Tory read a prepared statement that made Rory's ears burn with suppressed rage. He glanced at Tom who sat taking notes and looking impassive.

At the end of the statement each journalist in the first two rows was allowed two questions. Rory listened attentively. He had to grab the edge of his chair to keep from leaping to his feet and striking the man at the front. When it came to Tom's turn he got up and asked a question that left the Tory blabbering and searching for answers. Tom's second question was no kinder than the first and the man was left looking like a fool. The other reporters were like a dog onto a bone and didn't let up in the line of questioning Tom had started. By the end of the conference, the Tory was sweating and wiping his face with a fine linen handkerchief.

"That was incredible," Rory exclaimed when they were back in the hall. "You had him eating his words."

"If I had hit him what would have happened?" Tom asked him.

"You'd be in jail."

"How would I be portrayed in the papers?"

"Not well."

"Half of the reporters there work for the Tory press but the other half will report what an ass he made of himself. How many people will read about it?"

"Hundreds, maybe thousands."

"One thing politicians hate is being made to look stupid. If he looks stupid enough he won't get re-elected. His case against Irish independence just got a lot weaker. Now I have more work to get to. I'll see you outside. Do you know how to get back to the house?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Good. Tell Sybil I'll be back around three."

Rory finished his second interview and took the train back to Downton and his job at Drake farm. He had instructions to telephone the minute he got the results from his interviews. Lord Grantham had been over to visit before he left London and told Rory that he had his permission to come to the Abbey and use the telephone in the servants' hall to contact Sybil. The question of Rory's tuition and living expenses was still not answered, as he had to be accepted before he could begin the process of applying for scholarships.

Rory's first night back at the farm was spent relaying every detail of his trip to London and showing off his fancy new clothes.

"You'll be a fancy city doctor by the time you're done," John Drake told him.

"No, I don't think so," Rory replied. "I like the country much better. The people are a lot nicer."


	18. My Family

My Family

Sybil met Tom at the door two weeks later with Riordan in her arms.

"Rory's been offered a seat from his second interview," Sybil told Tom cheerfully. I told him we would stop by when we are in Downton next month.

"That's good. You know I never thought he would make something of himself back in Dublin."

"It was worth a try," Sybil said. "The alternative was too awful to think about."

"That's true. If he doesn't get enough together for the dormitory fees, do you want him here?"

"I'd have to think about it," Sybil said. "He is rather messy."

"His Ma either ignored him or spoiled him. Mine let me have it if I didn't do my chores.

"We'll make the decision when the time comes," Sybil said. She waited a minute to get up the courage to mention her other news to Tom. "I was talking to Mary."

"What did Lady Mary have to say?"

"Oh, not much. She mentioned Evelyn Napier had moved back to London. He was working in France for a while after the war."

"Sybil," Tom said with a groan. "He doesn't even know I exist."

"You don't know that. He's an only child as well. He might be glad to find out he has a brother."

"And he might not."

"Will you at least think about it?"

"Yes, I'll think about it."

After much cajoling Sybil finally managed to convince Tom to accompany her on a call to see Evelyn. They left Riordan home with Lauren. Viscount Branksome's London residence was every inch the "falderal" as Tom referred to it associated with someone of his rank.

"Lady Sybil, it has been a long while," Evelyn greeted Sybil.

"Too long," Sybil said. "I'd like you to meet my husband Tom Branson."

"How do you do?" Evelyn said politely. "I don't believe we've met before although you seem quite familiar."

Everyday when you look in the mirror, Sybil was thinking. She had never noticed the strong resemblance between the two of them until they were in the same room.

"I used to work for Sybil's father on the estate. Perhaps you saw me at a distance, although I'm sure we never met."

"Perhaps," Evelyn said.

They chatted a bit catching up on family and the latest news.

"Evelyn," Sybil said at last. "Has your father ever mentioned having any other children?"

Tom tensed beside her.

"He's never mentioned it, but then nothing would surprise me," Evelyn replied. "My father is, well was rather, ahem, _adventurous_. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. I was thinking if I had any long lost siblings I would like to meet them."

Tom stood up and went to look out the window.

"It would be an interesting revelation," Evelyn agreed.

"I though you might like to know you have a nephew."

"I beg your pardon," Evelyn said.

"He's your half brother's son."

"How did you come by this information?" Evelyn was looking pale.

It was a minute or two before Tom spoke.

"I got the identity of my natural father out of my mother before I left home when I was nineteen," Tom said still looking out the window. "Made her show me the documents as well. She hates him with every fiber of her being. Almost threw us out of the house when she found out I had married a peer. I wasn't going to tell you."

Evelyn was speechless. He was sitting staring at his half brother. Tom turned back from the window and moved over beside Sybil.

"We should go and let you think it over," Tom said quietly.

Evelyn stood up and suddenly hugged Tom tight. It was such an usual display for a member of the aristocracy all Tom could do was hug him back. Sybil got up and left the room to allow them to be alone for a moment.

"You're really my brother?"

"Yes."

"Do you realize that this makes your son my heir?"

"What! Oh No, No, No, NO. Absolutely not," Tom said. "You can get married and make your own heir."

"I've been trying. It hasn't quite worked out."

"Well, look in a different fish bowl and leave my son out of the aristocracy mess."

Evelyn started to laugh. "The son of a viscount who wants nothing to do with the title or fortune or any of the rest of it. You are going to be an interesting brother."

"It's bad enough I have to deal with my wife's title."

Evelyn smiled. "How did you wind up with one of Grantham's daughters?"

"Kept asking until she said yes," Tom said. His eyes were full of the devil. He had heard of Evelyn's spectacular crash with Lady Mary.

Evelyn went over and poured two glasses of whiskey.

"To my long lost brother, who isn't so lost anymore. So how are brothers supposed to act?" Evelyn asked.

"Don't know. I've never had one before."

"I've never had one before either. I guess we'll find out."

"What are you doing?" Sybil asked when she stuck her head back around the door. "Tom we have to go. I need to get back." She was trying to shield her chest from view as it was past time for feeding the baby and she was starting to drip.

"We're trying to figure out what brothers are supposed to act like," Tom told her.

"I have no idea. Thank you for having us Evelyn, but I really need to get home."

"Come by and see the baby," Tom said. "We're in Crawley House. I assume you know where it is. Just don't be shocked. I don't like the servants, so we only have one. Well not even that really. She's more of a nursemaid."

"I'll stop by soon," Evelyn said before Tom hurried off after his wife.

It was the dead of summer when Tom and Sybil were scheduled for their visit to Downton. Tom's work was going well and his distribution had been increased to two more papers in Ireland. He was now published in five papers and his pay was increased accordingly. Tom had booked a week off. Parliament wasn't sitting and the labor movement was quiet in the middle of July.

"I want to buy a car," he blurted out one day before their trip. He had a stack of brochures for the new cars being produced after the war and was dying to get back to driving.

"Oh Tom, we don't need a car in London."

"Come on, live a little. It could be fun."

"Honestly, you're the one who always worries about money and now you want something frivolous."

"It is not frivolous. I work all the time. I want to do something fun. We could go on picnics and country drives. We could drive to your parents and have some freedom when we're there."

"You know it's too far to drive to my parents, but I wouldn't mind driving down the coast when the weather is hot."

"Now you're talking. Let's go looking at cars."

"Alright!" Sybil threw up her hands in surrender. "Car shopping it is."

By the time they got to Downton it wasn't only Riordan who was fractious. Sybil had enough car shopping to last her for years. Tom had wanted to stop in Coventry and try every car, inspect each motor and get every detail. She was bored to tears.

"Enough, you're making us both crazy," Sybil complained. "Come back on your own."

"But I want to look at just one more."

"No!" Sybil finally said. "Tom I can't stand it. Just pick what you want and I'll write a check from my settlement. I don't care. Just pick one."

"Fine, I'll come back on my own."

"Oh Thank goodness," Sybil said. Her arms were aching from holding Riordan. She handed him to her husband. "I wish you were this interested in pram shopping."

"But that's boring," he whined.

"Ugh," Sybil said. "You take care of your son for a bit. I'm going for some tea while we wait for the train."

"Fine. We'll go car shopping while you have tea."

"Fine, go ahead," Sybil said walking away.

"You like car shopping with Daddy don't you, Riordan," Tom cooed to the baby.

The only response was a loud wail.

* * *

The next morning Tom and Sybil took her father's town car and went to visit Rory.

"This would be so much easier if we had our own car," Tom griped.

"Enough with the car," Sybil said. "Go pick one out tomorrow."

When they arrived at the Drake farm Mrs. Drake came out to meet them with a worried look on her face.

"Milady, Mr. Branson. I'm glad you're here," she said. "Something is wrong with Rory. He was so excited. He's hardly stopped chattering since he was accepted to medical school. A letter arrived from Ireland two days ago. He hasn't spoken hardly a word since."

"Now what," Tom muttered.

"He's so easily hurt," Mrs. Drake said. "We've been so worried."

"We'll talk to him, Mrs. Drake," Sybil said. "He trusts my husband. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of it."

"Where can we find him?" Tom asked.

"He should be down around the dairy. Follow the lane to the left. It's the last building on the right."

Tom and Sybil headed down the lane. They had left Riordan with Sybil's parents as they valued any opportunity to cluck and coo over their grandson. The Bransons spotted Rory loading milk jugs onto the back of the lorry. When he saw them he stopped what he was doing and came running. He threw his arms around Tom and burst into tears.

"Here now, what's wrong," Tom said rubbing Rory's back. Sybil stepped closer and rubbed his back as well.

"Come now, _M'éan, _it can't be all that bad," Sybil said quietly.

"It's my Ma," Rory snuffled, finally getting ahold of himself enough to stand on his own. He scrubbed his arm across his eyes. "I wrote to tell her I got accepted to university. I got a pretty good scholarship too. She said I was no son of hers. I've sold out to the British. She never wants to see me again."

Sybil gasped. She new the woman was harsh, but this was ridiculous.

"Oh Rory, she can't mean it," Sybil said. "Are you sure?"

He nodded and pulled the crumpled letter from his pocket. Tom took it, read it for a minute folded it and put it in his pocket. His face was like stone and his jaw set. Sybil had never seen him this angry before.

"I'll take care of this," Tom said through clenched teeth. "You stop this nonsense. If she doesn't have the sense to see what you're making of yourself the rest of your family does. You're part of my family now. I'm sure the Drakes feel the same way."

Rory shuffled his feet uneasily and nodded.

"I wish my Da was like you," he said finally.

"He was what he was," Tom said. "You can't change it, but you can choose who you listen to and who you associate with. Your family now is proud of you. Don't throw it away."

"I won't."

"When's your half day?" Sybil inquired gently.

"In two days," Rory said.

"Can you come to the Abbey and see Riordan? We could go on a picnic."

"Yeah, sure," Rory said unenthusiastically.

"We'll make some arrangements," Sybil said.

"I've got some business to attend to," Tom said. "We'll let you get back to work."

Tom and Sybil headed back to talk to the Drakes.

"That miserable old cow," Tom said.

"Tom what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to Ireland. If I have to bring that old hag back by the roots of her hair, she is going to make it up to that boy."

"Tom don't do anything drastic."

"Her husband was nothing but a drunk and she isn't much better. I suspect she was in her cups when she wrote that trash."

Mr. and Mrs. Drake were waiting for them when they got back from talking to Rory. They explained what was going on. Tom pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to John Drake. When he read it John Drake sat down at the table in shock.

"What kind of a mother would write that to their child?" he said.

Tom took the letter back and stuffed it in his pocket before the women could read it.

"It may be best if you ladies don't read it," he said. "I'm going to get his mother. She is going to make this up to him, I swear. I'll be back in two days if I make a fast turn around. Just whatever you do, don't let on about Sybil's title in her presence. She's Mrs. Branson from here on until we get this settled."

"I knew there was some reason, he didn't talk much about his life in Dublin," Mr. Drake said.

"That life is over," Tom said. He was still furious. "If I had my way, he'd never see that woman again. It's going to be his decision though, not hers."

They headed back to the Abbey. Tom threw some clothes in a satchel, borrowed some cash from Sybil's father and was on the train headed for the boat within the hour.

"I wouldn't want to be whoever he is going to see," Mary commented when Tom left the house.

"Nor would I," her father said.

Late the next day a telegram arrived at the Abbey with details of when Tom would be arriving back in Downton. It had definitely been a flying trip with only four hours in Dublin to complete his business. The morning of the third day the train pulled into Downton Station. Tom stepped down followed by his mother and Rory's mother last. Edith had driven the town car to the station and was walking back to the Abbey as Sybil had warned her to avoid the woman Tom was bringing back at all costs.

"Sybil, I thought I'd take the opportunity to come and see the baby," Tom's mother said.

"I just wish it was under better circumstances," Sybil replied quietly.

As her mother-in-law hugged her she whispered in Sybil's ear. "I thought it best to come along and help control her."

"Are we going to see my son or not," Mrs. Lester said waspishly in Irish.

"I have the car parked right over here," Sybil said. "How nice to see you again, Mrs. Lester." She said the last part in Irish.

Tom was carrying his mother's bag and left Mrs. Lester to carry her own small case. She was glaring at Sybil.

"I let the Drakes know you would be arriving this morning. They were nice enough to move Rory's half day so he could spend some time with you."

Mrs. Lester didn't reply. Sybil didn't doubt that she was hung over and continued to ignore the woman's rude behavior.

Tom got behind the driver's wheel and they headed off.

"Did you drive to the train?" he asked Sybil.

"No, Edith did. She decided to walk back."

"Good," Tom replied.

It wasn't ten minutes and they were at Drake farm. Tom had not been wasting anytime on the roads. When they got out of the car Rory came to meet them dressed in his new suit. Mr. and Mrs. Drake were behind him at the front door of the farmhouse.

"Hello, Mrs. Branson," Rory said to Tom's mother. "It was nice of you to come."

"Rory, you're looking so handsome and grown up since I last saw you," Mrs. Branson said. "It's obvious your life here agrees with you."

"It does," Rory said.

He turned his gaze on his mother who was looking at him disdainfully.

"Hello, Ma," he said.

She turned her face away from him.

"If you don't have anything to say to me, I have a few things to say to you," he said in English.

"Can't you speak your own language," she spat at him in Irish.

"No. I'll say what I have to in English so my family can all understand it," he said. "These people I live with here, from now on I'll be living with in the summers when I'm not in school. I'll be going to school in London in a few months, not far from Tom and Sybil. I'll live at the university and spend my other holidays with them." Rory paused for a few minutes to let his words sink in.

"You taught me nothing but hate for as long as I can remember. I don't even know how I got away from it all. These people have taken me in and shown me there is another way. They're my family now. I don't want anything more to do with you. I'm going to be a doctor and help people who are sick regardless of where they come from. You aren't going to hurt me anymore."

"You're a traitor to the cause," Mrs. Lester said to Rory's back when he had turned to walk away from her. Rory balled his fists and turned back. Tom moved to step between them but Sybil put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"The only traitor to Ireland here is you," Rory yelled pointing a finger at her. "You love that bottle of whiskey you keep in the broom cupboard more than your own children, more than your own country. If you really cared so damn much you'd clean up your act and do something worthwhile for a change. I've had enough. I'm getting on with my life and doing something that matters."

Mrs. Lester's mouth dropped open. Her hands flew to her face in embarrassment.

"Don't bother to write Ma," Rory said before he turned to leave. "Mrs. Branson can let me know if you've decided to dry yourself out."

"I guess that about says it," Tom commented. "I'll see Mrs. Lester back to the boat. I should be back tonight. Maybe you and Ma can get Rory to drive you over to the house in the Lorry."

"Don't worry Tom, we'll be fine," Sybil said. She took her mother-in-law's arm to go inside after the Drakes.

Sybil turned back to look at Mrs. Lester before she headed inside.

"Don't worry about Rory," Sybil said. "He's with people who love him."


	19. The Picnic

The Picnic

Tom had returned from dropping Mrs. Lester at the ferry to Ireland, so exhausted he had slept for twenty hours. Tom's mother had been in a state of shock at the size of Sybil's parent's home. As soon as she had seen her grandson and met Lady Cora the two women were in a flurry of cooing and cawing over the baby and any issues surrounding the splendor of the house and the aristocratic title were soon forgotten.

Rory had come to the Abbey before Tom and Sybil returned to London for a picnic. Mr. and Mrs. Drake had given him the day off to relax after the stress of the confrontation with his mother. The entire Crawley family had joined them complete with maids and footmen. Lord Grantham had volunteered to show Rory how to fly fish.

"What's the point of a picnic with servants?" Rory whispered to Tom.

"I have no idea," Tom whispered back. "It's one of those snooty things, just smile and nod and pretend like your having a good time."

Rory put on a pretty good front until he got a trout on his line. There was so much splashing and yelling that by the time he landed his fish he was soaked. Sybil and her sister's had cheered him on and even the Dowager Countess had applauded when he triumphantly held up his prize.

Tom's mother accompanied them back to London for another two weeks before she headed back to Ireland.

By the time summer was drawing to a close, life in the house was getting back to normal.

"I still haven't got my car," Tom pouted.

"Get Evelyn to go with you to pick one out," Sybil said. "It can be one of those male bonding things. I don't want to go."

"That might be a good idea. I'm glad I thought of it." Tom said.

The only answer was a playful slap across the top of his head.

A few weeks later Evelyn stopped by for a brief visit. He and Tom still weren't on easy terms. Neither one quite knew what to do with a new sibling.

"Have you ever gone car shopping?" Sybil inquired sweetly of Evelyn. "Tom loves to shop for cars but I can't stand it."

"I've been looking for a new motor myself," Evelyn said.

It was all it took and the two brothers were lost in a world of engines and speed trials only they understood.

Rory had come to London for medical school in September. He came over on weekends for Sunday dinner or when he just needed a break. Money was tight for him and he struggled a bit with some of his courses, but he was determined to see his schooling through.

"A life worth living isn't always easy," Tom told him. "The hard sacrifices will pay off in the end."

By Christmas Tom had his car. There wasn't much call for it in London with the trams so convenient and the lack of parking. Tom had it in the garage and went out to polish it or play around with the engine almost every day. On the odd afternoon Sybil would go out and join him.

"I think you wanted that car to remind you of our courtship," Sybil said.

"I think you like garages," Tom teased her.

"Maybe I happen to like a particular mechanic. You never did finish teaching me how to drive."

"I'll show you how to drive in the spring, my love."

"It might have to wait," Sybil replied.

"Whatever for?"

"My stomach will have to shrink enough for me to get behind the wheel."

Tom bonked his head on the bonnet as he straightened up.

"This time I'll drive you to the hospital," he said.

"Perhaps," Sybil replied as she jumped off the crate she was sitting on and went to kiss her husband before her stomach had a chance to get in the way.

The End of Part I


	20. Coming Home

Coming Home

Rory Lester stood on a Dublin sidewalk in the summer of 1926 and stared at the façade of a pub. He was twenty-five years old and had just completed his residence training as a Doctor in London. He was on his way to his first post as a doctor in Ballybunion, County Kerry on the west coast of Ireland. From what he heard it was a small town surrounded by farmland that catered to a summer crowd that came for the beaches and the Ballybunion golf course. The town had been without a doctor for a year. His training in England had obligated him to work for at least three years for the National Health in England but he had been granted a dispensation, as there was a shortage of doctors in rural Ireland.

He sighed before he took a deep breath and walked into the pub. It was late morning and the pub wasn't yet open for business.

"We're not open yet," the man working behind the bar said.

"I was hoping to speak to the proprietor," Rory replied.

"You're looking at him. I'm not hiring."

"I'm not looking for a job," Rory said. He took another deep breath. "Did you own this pub eight years ago, just before the War for Independence?"

"Aye, what's it to ya?"

Rory was starting to perspire. He hadn't felt this nervous in years. Being back in Dublin even just overnight while he was passing through was bringing back memories he would just as soon forget.

"About eight years ago this place was busted up pretty bad and looted."

"I won't soon forget it."

"I…I've come to apologize and make restitution."

He laid an envelope on the bar. The proprietor pulled a club out from under the bar and held it at the ready.

"You were one of those little bastards. Didn't ever occur to you I was serving the English soldiers to get information for our side?"

"I don't know what I thought then," Rory stood his ground. "I was a stupid mixed up kid. I managed to get myself shot for my troubles. I've been away ever since. I just wanted to say I was sorry and pay you for some of the damages."

The fight went out of the man and he put the club away. His shoulders sagged slightly and he sighed. He picked up the envelope and looked at the pound notes inside. There was at least two hundred pounds. He suspected it was the younger man's entire life savings.

"What's done is done lad. He pushed the envelope back to Rory. I won't take your money. It was a long time ago. Have a seat."

The proprietor drew out two Guinness from the tap and pushed one over to Rory.

"I heard most of the group that had busted the place up have since been killed. The police said one of them had disappeared if I remember right. Where have you been?"

"I wouldn't know what happened to any of them. I had friends that helped me get away from that life. I went to England and attended medical school," Rory replied. "I'm on my way to a rural post in Ireland as the town doctor. I was a minor before I left. The police are no longer interested in me. I'm just passing through."

"I'll be damned," the proprietor said. "Now for sure I won't take your money. You keep it. You're going to need it more than I."

After he finished his drink at the pub Rory headed back over to Mrs. Branson's where he had left his bags. His memories were raw and felt as though they had him by the throat and were choking him as he walked. He'd been good at school when he was a lad. School had always seemed like a refuge from his mother's bouts of drinking. When she wasn't drinking she had been the kindest mother imaginable and spoiled him rotten. Then she would make a trip to the broom closet and the insults would start. She raved about his father and what a sainted man he had been dying for the cause. She wanted to hear nothing about his schooling and insisted repeatedly he join the rebels from the time he was fourteen.

Rory had resisted her and stayed in school. He had wanted to apply to the university in Dublin but she screamed so much when he had mentioned it, he gave up the idea. He'd been angry and full of hate. Hate for the English, hate for his mother and when he had finally admitted it, hate for himself. He hadn't been able to find a job after high school. His father's name preceded him wherever he went and every door had been shut in his face. He'd started hanging out on the streets and soon fell in with a group that was looting stores that served the English troops. They claimed to be undermining the English presence and associated themselves with the rebels. What they had really been were a band of crooks who were using the unrest to line their own pockets.

His initiation into the group had been to plan an attack. He'd seen the soldiers going in and out of the pub and hidden across the street to watch the place for two days. The patrols had gone by late afternoon on both days and the barkeep didn't show up till almost noon. The older men who ran the group didn't accompany the younger boys on their raids. "Safer that way," they had claimed. "You young ones all look alike. You won't be recognized." When Rory was first in England and working on the Drake farm he had realized the true statement was "You do the work and we'll take the profits."

The raid had gone as planned. They had smashed the pub windows and broken up the tables and chairs. The boys had each grabbed a case of whiskey and were about to make their escape when a patrol had come down the street.

"Shite," he had called to the others. "They've changed the time of the patrol."

They had dashed outside with the whiskey. When the soldiers had called for them to halt, the boys had thrown rocks and bricks. Some had even thrown the bottles of whiskey. Once the first few shots were fired the boys had scattered. Rory had run as fast as he could through back gardens and lanes. He had heard the soldiers chasing him. Finally he had ducked through an over grown culvert that was dry in the summer. When he had finally stopped running he felt a burning sensation in his side. He had staggered back towards home with no coherent thought to what he was going to do when he got there. He had heard voices coming from the garden at Mrs. Branson's. He had always remembered the cookies she always seemed to have in her apron pocket when he was little. He had veered into the garden and into his future.

He remembered every second of the exchange with Sybil. He could still hear his mother's words calling her every despicable name she could think of. He remembered all of it right up until he had passed out from the pain. That evening after Sybil had shoveled his supper into him and his mother hadn't shown up he lay in bed and cried him self to sleep. He couldn't remember his mother showing up once during the entire time of his recovery. Mrs. Branson had changed his bandages and Tom had stopped by to see him everyday. Sybil had been kind and caring and had arranged for him to go to England away from everything that had made up his life in Ireland so far. His mother had shown up with a bag with his clothing before he left, but she had only stayed a few minutes before she was off. She had reeked of whiskey and stale smoke. There was no way to know where she had been for the last two weeks. He had just turned seventeen years old.

Rory walked up the back lane, through the garden and into the kitchen at Mrs. Branson's. She was sitting at the kitchen table working on sewing she had taken in.

"How was your walk?" she inquired. "Did you see the sights?"

"Enough of them to be glad I left," Rory replied.

"I can't say it was a bad thing," Mrs. Branson replied. "Your time away did you wonders."

"Everything before doesn't even seem real somehow. Did you find out anything about where my mother disappeared to?"

"No one seems to know a thing. She's been gone four years now. You know, she didn't start with the drink until after your father died."

"I don't remember a time when she didn't. My two eldest sisters wrote to me after I broke with her. They were both mad at me and couldn't understand why I had done it. I chucked their letters in with the cow pat where they belonged."

"Oh Rory, I'm sorry to hear that. What about the other sisters? There are two more aren't there?"

"Yes, I'm the youngest of five. The others are all quite a bit older than me. The last I heard of them one was in Limerick and the other somewhere in Dublin. They're both married or at least they were. I might look up Emerald tomorrow before I get the train. She's the next oldest to me. She's eight years older."

"You do what you think is right," Mrs. Branson said. "You've done without their help and interference this long."

Rory only nodded.

"Do you have a place arranged in Ballybunion?" Mrs. Branson inquired to change the topic.

"The post comes with a cottage. I'm hoping there is enough space for a few chickens and a vegetable garden. I don't expect to be earning too much. I'll have to make do. Besides I've missed the farm these last two years while I did my surgical residency."

"Did you get to visit the Drake's before you left?"

"Lord Grantham held a shoot and I was invited. I managed to get over to the farm for a bit."

"Who'd have thought a peer would take you in like that and treat you as one of their own."

"They told everyone I was a relative of Tom's from Ireland studying in London. All their snooty friends thought I was related to some wealthy family."

"If that don't beat all," Mrs. Branson said. "How did you handle that lot?"

"Did what Tom taught me. I beat them at their own game. When they mentioned anything about Ireland, I had the facts, stated my case politely and gave them no room to argue."

"That would be my son."

In fact Rory had learned the lesson so well from Tom he had joined the debate team at the university when he first attended. He could debate the issues with the best of them. It was a useful skill even in medicine as he had learned how to talk even the most difficult patient around to his way of thinking.

Tom had taught him a number of valuable lessons that should have come from a father if Rory had had one. Tom had pointed out the differences in hygiene between ranks. Introduced him to deodorant paste and given him numerous tips on grooming and keeping his cloths looking their best. As well he had taught him to drive and been a good listener whenever Rory needed it. At the same time he had a firm hand and wouldn't take any guff when Rory had been younger. Rory had thanked his lucky stars numerous times for the Bransons coming into his life.

"I still can't thank Tom and Sybil enough for all they did for me," Rory said. "They even postponed Tom taking the job with Sybil's American relatives so they could stay in London until I had completed my training."

"They were doing what they thought was right. Sybil has a soft heart. You would never know it under that fancy accent and formal front she puts on, but she does."

"She's spoiled me for other girls," Rory said with a laugh. "Every time I meet one, I compare her to Sybil. Although I didn't have much time for them these last few years."

"Now don't go setting the bar too high or you'll never meet one. That girl still can't bake a decent looking pie to save her life."

Rory just laughed.

"I don't think Tom cares."

"No but her mother-in-law does."

Rory just shook his head as he got up to start making the tea.


	21. Arriving

Arriving

Rory's trip to see his sister Emerald had been a waste of time in his opinion. He had tracked her down the next morning. She was still married to the same man and had twelve children the youngest just over a year old. Her husband was a shipwright and they lived not far from the docks. His sister couldn't see why he would associate with Protestants and take his education in England. She informed him their mother was staying with their oldest sister Jean and was doing poorly. They didn't expect her to make it past Christmas. Rory didn't stay long. He made his excuses and headed for the train.

Emerald hadn't asked him anything about his new post and he hadn't volunteered where he was headed. As he walked to the train station he wondered yet again how he could be so radically different than the rest of his family. Sometimes it felt as though he had been dropped from a passing gypsy wagon or picked up from the side of the road. He had more in common with the Drake children who were now almost grown than he did with his own siblings.

During the train ride Rory kept himself busy with reading the latest medical journals. His former family was forgotten as he eagerly transferred trains. At least he thought he was transferring trains. The people at the station assured him the train came through but no one at the station seemed to know when the train for Ballybunion was leaving. Rory asked for directions and after receiving three different versions of how to get to Ballybunion, he gave up. He went outside the station to wait for the train.

A horse drawn buggy pulled up alongside him. A middle-aged couple was in the buggy with the man driving.

"And who might you be?" the man inquired.

"Dr. Lester, I'm headed for Ballybunion," Rory replied.

"Well, get your things and come along. We drove down to see if you were on the train. We've been meeting the train for the last few days to see if you'd be on it. We're the Lonogans of the Ballybunion Hotel," Mrs. Lonogan said.

"Pleased to meet you," Rory replied. He went to retrieve his bags.

"Most folks don't take the train to the town," Mr. Lonogan informed Rory once they were on their way. "They book a cab for the rest of the trip."

"Folks around will be right glad you've showed up," Mrs. Lonogan said. "The closest doctor was Tralee for a long while. They have a doctor in Listowel now, but the word is he's leaving in two months. So you'll be seeing to folks from over there as well pretty soon. You're accent sounds like you're from around Dublin. Do you have family there?"

"I'm from Dublin originally. My family lives in London. I did my training in England. London actually."

"And yet you want to come here?" Mrs. Lonogan replied. She was a bit of a busy body and couldn't wait to be the first to get all the news on the new doctor.

"I like the country," Rory replied.

"You'll see more than your bellyful here," Mr. Lonogan said. "Do you golf?"

"No, I fly fish."

"Eerp, we got fishing too. I prefer to fish off the beach."

"Geoff, must you discuss fishing and golf wherever we go. Not everyone wants to talk about fish," Mrs. Lonogan complained.

"What type of fish do you catch off the beach," Rory questioned. He was quite amused by the older woman's questioning and the husband's complete lack of interest in anything but fish and golf.

"Cod, near the rocks, sea bass if you go off shore in a boat, flounder and haddock you can catch with a line. Decent trout and perch if you fish fresh water."

"Do you have a wife?" Mrs. Lonogan inquired. She couldn't help herself.

"I'm afraid I'm single," Rory replied. "Any special equipment required for catching perch?"

"Nope, just a worm on your hook. If they're biting they'll hit on anything. I tried ham once, worked better than a worm."

"I'll have to try that," Rory said.

"Do you have a sweetheart?" Mrs. Lonogan asked.

"I'm afraid not," Rory replied.

"Now Mary, leave the man alone. The next thing you know you'll be sending the matchmaker around to his door. He's only just arrived."

"I'm just being neighborly," Mary Lonogan said sweetly to her husband.

"No, you're being an old busy body. Leave the man be. Let him get settled a week or two at least before he you have him picking out a wife."

Rory was trying his best not to laugh.

"Dr. Lester, I must say you look very young. Folk might be put off by such a young doctor." Mrs. Lonogan said. "How old are you?"

"Mary, must you!"

"Well, people are going to want to know," she retorted indignantly to her husband.

Rory couldn't keep in a huge smile any longer.

"Mrs. Lonogan, I'm twenty-five years old and a licensed surgeon. I was born and raised in Dublin and educated in London. I'm single with no commitments. I have no family in Ireland to speak of. I like fishing and country life. My favorite food is cherry cobbler and I don't care for soda bread. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"That should about do it," Mr. Lonogan said with a snigger until his wife spoke again.

"Do you prefer blondes or redheads?"

Rory couldn't help it and burst out laughing.

"I don't see what is so humorous," she said with an indignant look.

Rory had to pull out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears of laughter that were rolling down his cheeks. Luckily they had finally arrived at the doctor's cottage.

The cottage was a good size Rory found with three bedrooms and a sitting room, upstairs. Downstairs the front of the cottage was set up with a waiting room, examination room and office. Someone from the village had been by and cleaned the cottage in preparation for Rory's arrival. Wood was neatly stacked by the back door and each of the fireplaces. There was no electricity or running water but a stunning view of the ocean from the front of the house made up for it.

It didn't take Rory long to unpack his few possession and place his few pictures on the dresser in the room he had chosen. He picked up the framed picture of the Drakes and their three children and looked at it a moment before moved to put it in the drawer. He stopped himself and set it back on the dresser. The image of Colleen, their oldest stared back at him. She was six years younger than Rory, a Yorkshire girl with long blonde hair and eyes like giant blue buttons that made Rory's heart melt every time he looked at her.

She had been eleven when he first arrived and followed him about showing him the ins and outs of the farm. He had played kick ball in the yard with her and her younger brothers in the evenings and pushed her on the swing under an old oak tree. He had been so worked up in those days and trying to figure out who he was he hadn't paid her much mind. Things had changed the last summer he worked for the Drakes. Colleen had changed. She had turned into a beautiful young girl while he had been at school over the winter. When she sat across from him at the table he thought his heart would burst and pour out onto the table for everyone to see. Of course he knew the scientific reasons for his desire, but when it had hit him full force he hadn't known what to say in her presence.

He couldn't and wouldn't ask her out, no matter what. He owed the Drakes too much for giving him his first start in England and taking him into their home. Rory suspected John Drake wouldn't approve of an Irish Catholic suitor for Colleen. The Drakes attended the village church every Sunday and as far as Rory knew they expected all of their children to do the same. Rory had spent the summer in misery and gone back to school to begin full year courses in the training hospital. After that his visits to the farm had been infrequent and his main contact with the family had been through the post.

On his last trip to Downton to Lord Grantham's shooting party he had stopped by the Drake farm for an afternoon. He had been introduced to Colleen's beau, a boy her own age from the local village. Rory had kissed Mrs. Drake and Colleen goodbye on the cheek before he left. His gaze had lingered on Colleen's probably longer than was respectable, but no one else seemed to notice.

Rory shook himself out of his reverie. Enough mooning over an English girl you don't have a chance with, he reminded himself. He headed out the door of the cottage and into the small town. He had to find a grocer and buy something to stock his cupboards before he starved. Setting up the surgery and arranging office hours could wait.


	22. Patients

Patients

Mrs. Lonogan's clacking tongue preceded Rory around the small town he found out quickly. It wasn't long before he was receiving dinner invitations from every family with a daughter of marrying age. He was regularly presented with cherry cobbler and not a dot of soda bread insight. He hadn't been taken with any of the girls so far, but he was happy that he wasn't being left totally to his own culinary skills.

Once he had the surgery in order, he repainted the sign to be hung out front and posted his office hours at the post office and the main shops in town. His first few days on the job, he had a flood of people in the waiting room. Many he suspected were there more to gawk at the new doctor than for any legitimate complaint. His most interesting patient had been an old man of close to eighty years old. His daughter who was close to sixty brought him in.

"Da says he wants more of that tonic the last doctor gave him. It fixed him right up. Felt the best he has in years," Cloda O'Sullivan informed Rory.

"Just let me collect your father's previous file," Rory said.

He returned to his desk with the folder.

"Tell me Mr. O'Sullivan, what are your current symptoms."

"He wants to know how you feel now," his daughter yelled in his ear.

The old man was obviously hard of hearing.

"Poorly, poorly same as always," Mr. O'Sullivan replied.

"Any pain, Mr. O'Sullivan?" Rory shouted.

"Same as always," was the reply.

"Perhaps I should examine your father, Miss O'Sullivan," Rory said.

He shooshed Miss O'Sullivan back into the waiting room and conducted a thorough exam of Mr. O'Sullivan. Other than some arthritis Rory couldn't find anything wrong with the man. He suspected he would live another ten years at least.

"Have you been eating well?" Rory shouted.

"You don't have to shout, sonny," Mr. O'Sullivan said. "I can hear you just fine. I let my daughter think I can't hear so I don't have to listen to her nattering."

"Mr. O'Sullivan, I can't find anything wrong with you, other than some arthritis which is common for a man of your years. Other than keeping the joints warm in cold weather there is nothing I can prescribe for you."

"The last fellow gave me a tonic. My daughter doesn't approve of whiskey. Half a glassful of that stuff a day fixed me right up." Mr. O'Sullivan winked.

Rory consulted the last man's notes to stall for time. He wasn't sure how to tell Mr. O'Sullivan he was a doctor not a barkeep. On the last page of the file the last man had left a note. _Give him a quart bottle of whiskey in a medicine bottle once a week or they will be back every day to pester you until you give him his tonic._

"One moment Mr. O'Sullivan," Rory said. He went through into the dispensary, retrieved a large jar of treacle from the shelf and poured a large medicine bottle a third full. To that he added a good half bottle of whiskey and filled the rest with water. He shook the bottle thoroughly until the concoction was mixed.

"Here you go Mr. O'Sullivan. This should fix you right up. I suggest you take it in the mornings or you won't sleep that well. You may find this tonic gives you more energy. I've put the directions on the bottle."

The old codger paid his bill and headed out the door with his "tonic" firmly in his grasp.

"Good God almighty, what next" Rory said before he called the next patient.

Four days later Cloda O'Sullivan was back.

"I'm surprised to see you back so soon Miss O'Sullivan," Rory said as he showed her into his office.

"Whatever did you give to my father?" Miss O'Sullivan questioned. "He's turned into a lunatic. He's found himself a girlfriend and has her sleeping over at our house."

"Miss O'Sullivan I can assure you there was nothing in that tonic that would cause your father to act in any particular way. It was a placebo, in lay terms that is a sugar drug. It has no medicinal effect other than to make the patient think they are receiving treatment when they are not. There is nothing physically or mentally wrong with your father as far as I can tell."

"Well there must be something to it. He can hear every word that's said right as rain. His hearing wouldn't just improve overnight."

"Perhaps you had best speak to the village priest," Rory suggested with a deadpan expression. "It could be a miracle."

Miss O'Sullivan perked up.

"Oh Doctor, you must be right. I'll go to the church immediately and prey that my father is put back to rights this instant."

"That is most likely your best option."

Once she had left the office, Rory poked his head out into the waiting room.

"I'll just be a moment," he said.

He rushed out back to the stand of trees behind the cottage and doubled over laughing for the next five minutes.

As a country doctor Rory's biggest problem was his lack of transportation. It would only be a matter of time before an accident occurred or the weather got cold and he would have to make house calls. There wasn't an automobile in town, which presented the issue of how to get enough fuel and maintain a car. He decided a saddle horse would be the best option. He decided to ask Mr. Lonogan's advice as to where to purchase one, as the Lonogan's seemed to be the best-informed couple in town. Mrs. Lonogan was a gossip, and Mr. Lonogan wasn't much better. Rory suspected a few well-placed words and he would have his pick of mounts within a few days.

He walked up to the hotel after office hours and found Mr. Lonogan tending bar.

"Dr. Lester, how are you keeping?" Mr. Lonogan inquired. Rory wondered if his wife had somehow rigged the bar telephone as a listening device.

"Just fine Mr. Lonogan. Call me Rory. Dr. Lester makes me think there is some old codger by the same name waiting to pounce."

"All right then Rory, what can I do for you?"

"A Guinness, for one thing and I was wondering if you knew where I might be able to purchase a horse."

"What type?"

"One I can ride."

"Not picky on type then?"

"Sturdy, reliable, fast enough the person I'm going to see doesn't pass on before I get there."

"You leave it to me," Mr. Lonogan said. He spotted his wife coming out of the corner of his eye. "The fish were biting over towards Listowel yesterday and they were so big they almost took a man's arm off."

Mrs. Lonogan heard her husband's tall tale and turned around to head upstairs.

"That was a close call," Mr. Lonogan said. "Did you fancy any of those girls she set up for dinner invitations yet?"

"No, not yet," Rory said.

"Too bad."

"Not really, but I am getting sick of cherry cobbler. I wish someone would make a chocolate cake once in a while."

Rory quickly learned it was the wrong thing to say, as the next three dinner invitations he was promptly presented with chocolate cake.


	23. The Squire's Problem

The Squires Problem

A man wearing a tweed suit with a giant white mustache and walking stick approached Rory while he was collecting his mail at the local post office a few days after he had talked to Mr. Lonogan.

"You'll be the doctor, then?" the man inquired.

"Yes, that's right. How can I help you?" Rory responded.

"Come with me," the man said. He walked outside to where a bay colored hunter was tethered at a rail. "That will be sixty pound."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Geoff at the bar told me to bring round my best horse for you. Something fast he said. That will be sixty pound including the bridle and saddle."

Rory looked from him to the horse. It was obviously a fine specimen. He didn't want to insult the man by looking over the horse closely, but on the other hand he didn't want an animal that was going to fall over dead the moment he rode it.

"Would you mind if I rode down the way and back? I just want to make sure I can control the animal."

"Realta is a good mount. You shouldn't have any problems."

"I'm not that great a rider," Rory lied. In fact he had spent many hours riding in Yorkshire and had never had any problem.

"Alright, suit yourself," the man said.

Rory mounted and headed down to the village green. The horse was smooth at the trot. When he reached the green he tapped the horse's sides with his heels.

"Holy Christ," Rory muttered under his breath. The horse took off so fast, Rory felt like he was sitting on a stick of dynamite. They were across the green in seconds. Luckily the horse had a soft mouth and responded easily to the bit. Rory turned the horse in a small circle and headed back towards the post office. People in this area did everything by bartering. Sixty pounds was a fair price for the horse, but if he just accepted the price without a blink of an eye the word would be out in a flash. He would be pegged for a sucker.

Rory spotted the man waiting for him outside the post office. He pulled the horse to a halt and jumped down.

"It's a fine mount," Rory said. "A trifle on the fast side. I don't know if it's suitable for a doctor. Might be a bit unseemly for the local practitioner to be seen dashing across the fields."

"Now you can suit yourself, but you won't find a better horse around these parts."

"Might I have the name of the man I'm doing business with?"

"It's Squire Carren."

"I'll have to acquire feed as well. That will be another expense," Rory stalled.

"He doesn't run on petrol," the Squire replied.

"No, no, I suppose your right," Rory paused. "Sixty pounds for the horse and tack plus two months of feed."

The Squires giant mustached twitched up and down while he thought it over.

"Sixty pound for the horse and tack, one month of feed and you buy the round to seal the deal."

"Deal," Rory said. He spit on his hand and extended it to the other man. The squire did the same to seal the deal. They headed to Lonogan's for their drink. Rory had quickly found out Lonogan's was the favorite watering hole for the locals. Ballybunion was a popular tourist destination as people came for the sandy beaches and the golf course built among the dunes. The golf course was built in 1893 and there was talk of expanding it the next year. It attracted tourists from all over Ireland, the UK and Europe and there was even the odd American through to play a round. Despite the erratic train schedule Ballybunion was an idyllic spot.

Today was market day and the bar was abuzz with the locals when Rory and the squire stepped through the door.

"So you bought the horse?" Mr. Lonogan inquired. He didn't bother to ask what they wanted just plunked their drinks on the bar.

"Aye, I did," Rory said as he paid for the drinks. He lapsed back into his brogue when he was here. His more formal speech he had picked up at the university and spending time with Sybil's family was reserved for office hours and paying calls. The men at the bar all leaned in to hear the latest. It was a small town and anything the doctor did was a great source of conversation in the surrounding countryside.

"You found a sweetheart yet?" Mr. Lonogan asked.

"No, not yet. Decided I'm giving up desserts though," Rory said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Too bad, my housekeeper makes a decent plum cake," the squire said. "You can stop for your supper when you bring the payment by." No one in the local area carried that kind of money around in their pocket.

"I'll kindly accept your invitation."

"You going to ride in the race in two weeks since you got a horse now?" Mr. Lonogan asked.

"Didn't know there was one," Rory said.

The bar erupted in voices with all the men relating the details of the race and stories of races past. It was almost dusk by the time Rory got back to his cottage. He turned the horse loose in his back garden. There was more than enough grass for the animal to graze on and it had been too late in the season to plant a garden when Rory arrived. There was a low stonewall around the garden that should be enough to keep the animal in, or at least until Rory could get a paddock built across part of the back where the animal shed was.

Rory was weaving a bit as he headed for the cottage. He had been at the bar all afternoon and hadn't had a thing to eat. His foot knocked against a box that had been left on the back doorstep. A faint sound came out of it. He carried the box into the house and opened it to find a Border collie puppy inside. There was a note in the box.

"_Now that you have a horse, you'll need a dog to keep it in line." _ The note wasn't signed. Rory lifted the puppy out of the box and held the squiggling ball of fur close for a moment. He set the puppy down and went to find him something to eat.

"Guess they don't want me to leave," he said to the dog. "The next thing they'll be leaving a wife on the doorstep, gift wrapped."

"Arf," came the reply. The next moment the shutters on the kitchen window flew open as a horse's head poked in and began chewing on the loaf of bread Rory had gotten out for part of his own supper.

"And what are you going to get into?" he said to the puppy after he threw the loaf out the window and latched the shutters on the horse.

"Arf," came the reply as the puppy bounded off to explore the house.

The next evening when Rory went to Squire Carren's for supper, the housekeeper had been a shocker. The woman had ten years on Rory and was missing three of her front teeth. She did make a decent meal though.

"Good God, do I really look that desperate," he said to Realta as he rode home.

Realta nodded his head in agreement.

"Not you too," Rory groaned.

Two weeks later the race day arrived with a clear sunny sky. The entire town was closed up for the event. Rory had thought himself a decent rider but soon reassessed that notion after he had ridden his new horse a few times. The animal was no farm horse. It was fast, so fast it had other notions when Rory wanted to go through a gate and the horse decided to take the direct route over a fence or ditch. The first time Rory had almost fallen off. Now he accepted there was no going the long way and went over the ditches and fences deliberately. He'd had to put the paddock up quickly as Realta had decided the kitchen was too interesting to stay out of and had pushed the back door open twice and invited himself into the house.

The squire's men had dropped off the cart full of hay and shaken their heads at Rory.

"The squire got the better deal," they told him. "That horse is fast but he's smart. He's always into something. You'd best watch out or he'll be wearing your laundry next."

"Oh great," Rory groaned out. He put the hay into the side room of the shed and put a lock on the door.

"Unless you have figured out how to use a key, you won't be helping yourself," he said to the horse.

The next two days Realta was busy hanging around the shed poking at the lock. When he couldn't get the door open he was off looking for something else to get into to.

* * *

The local band was playing and people were excited for the race when Rory arrived. He rode up on Realta and jumped down. He went to register and was given a garland of ribbons to wear around his sleeve. Realta was dancing and fidgeting with the crowd and noise.

"You best watch he doesn't buck you off," Squire Carren teased him.

"I think it would be more like he doesn't get loose and eat all the refreshments," Rory retorted.

The squire just laughed.

The single women tied their bonnets to poles in the sand that had been put up for a finish line.

"Which one are you going to pick Doctor?" Miss O'Sullivan asked.

"I have no idea," Rory replied. "I'll let my horse choose."

The group he was standing with all laughed.

There were twelve riders in the race. When the gun sounded they were off. Realta reared as soon as he heard the shot and took off after the other horses. Rory soon learned he was just along for the ride. Realta didn't like running at the back of the pack and was moving at a dizzying pace. They made up time in the obstacles as Realta flew over every water hole and hedge like it wasn't there. They were out front and headed for the finish line. Rory put out his hand and grabbed whatever bonnet was closest before Realta spotted the refreshment table and veered towards it. It took every ounce of Rory's strength to pull Realta to a stop before he reached the object of his desire.

When he finally got Realta calmed enough to dismount. One of the local men came forward to hold the horse while Rory was pushed towards the winner's platform.

"Watch out or he'll be taking you for tea," Rory called to the man.

Rory was presented with the cup and a pretty young girl with bouncing red curls came forward to claim her hat. Everyone cheered when Rory kissed her as tradition dictated. He had never seen the girl before. She was certainly pretty enough. Another young man glared at him as he lead his horse by. Rory quickly extricated himself from the podium and the red haired girl before her boyfriend came to let him have it for kissing his sweetheart.

Rory caught up with the man who had been holding Realta. The man was running through the sand dunes chasing the horse. Realta had the man's cap firmly between his teeth and was busy leading him on a merry chase. Rory whistled for the horse. He came obediently trotting over for the treat he knew was in Rory's pocket.

"That is one sly animal," the man said. "It's a wonder you don't send him to the glue factory."

"He just a little fractious," Rory replied. "You have to get to know him."

"Better you than me, lad."

Rory just laughed before he headed back to the festivities and found a place to tether his horse where he couldn't get himself into any more trouble.


	24. The Unexpected

The Unexpected

Realta's antics had become the talk of the town in Ballybunion. Everyone knew to lock the horse in a stall and wire the door shut when the doctor was paying a house call for a birth or an unexpected injury. A few times Rory had been glad of the horse's speed when he had been called for a farm accident or a difficult birth. It was now over two months since Rory had arrived and the doctor in Listowel was gone. There were so many people waiting to see Rory each day during his office hours he decided at last to go to Listowel one day a week to see patients there. It gave him a change of scenery and an opportunity to run his notorious horse there and back and wear him out at least a little.

On a day in late fall Rory had just returned from Listowel. He had stabled Realta and was getting him some hay when a young woman stepped around the side of the house.

"I'll be right there," he called as he locked the hay room and securely locked Realta's enclosure for the night.

"Rory?" an English accent called to him.

He stopped still in his tracks for a second before he dashed over and wrapped the young woman in a hug.

"Colleen, this is a shock. What are you doing here? How did you get here?" he said as he let her go slightly.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and burst into tears.

"I didn't know where else to go," she blubbered against him. "Mummy and Daddy are insisting I marry Robbie. I can't marry him. I told them and they won't listen. I took Mommy's egg money and came to find you."

"You're here now, everything will be fine," Rory crooned trying to comfort her.

When Colleen finally stopped crying long enough he got her inside and sat down at the kitchen table. She was clearly exhausted. Pieces of hair stuck out of the long blonde plait hanging down her back and dark circles shone out under her eyes in her pale complexion.

"Now tell me what happened," Rory said kneeling in front of her. Harry, Rory's puppy curled himself beside Colleen trying to comfort her.

"Oh Rory," Colleen said woefully. "It was too awful. I was to marry Robbie before Christmas. It was all set. He showed up one day while I was milking. He had been drinking. He, he …" Colleen burst into tears.

"Did he force himself on you?" Rory asked as gently as he could.

Colleen only nodded.

"I told Mommy and she said I had to marry him now that I was ruined. I could never marry him. Not after what he did."

"Did he injure you?" Rory's hands went to her and started checking her over quickly to make sure there weren't any broken bones or hidden cuts.

"No, he didn't hurt me except some bruises and …"

"Oh God, Colleen, I'm so sorry," Rory pulled her into his arms and held her close for a few minutes. "He didn't get you pregnant did he?"

"No, my time came two days later," Colleen said.

"At least that's something. How did you make the trip? It is a long ways."

"It wasn't hard. I walked to the station in Downton. Then I took the ferry and another train when I got here. People along the way were helpful. I got a ride on a farm cart from the last train. You know they have the most peculiar schedules out here."

"This is rural Ireland," Rory said. "They have peculiar lots of things, but you will love it here like I do." Rory pushed the hair back from her face. He realized what he had said. Now that she was here he didn't want her to leave. "I'll have to send word to your parents that you are here."

"No!" Colleen grabbed Rory's wrist.

"Don't worry, you won't be going back to marry Robbie, but we do have to let them know where you are and that you are safe. It will all work out."

Colleen nodded faintly.

"When is the last time you had something to eat?"

"When I got off the train in Liverpool."

Rory did the calculations in his head. That had to be more than twenty-four hours ago.

"First you have something to eat and then I'll make arrangements with a neighbor for somewhere for you to stay."

Colleen was going to protest.

"You can't sleep here. This is a small town, Colleen. I'm the local doctor and a favorite topic of gossip."

Colleen only nodded as she got up to help Rory prepare something to eat. Despite Colleen's ragged appearance and distressing situation, Rory couldn't help but be glad she was there. It was like old times to have her working at the counter beside him. She was looking a bit better after their short meal. She fixed her hair and washed her face before Rory took her down the way to Mrs. MacDiarmid's. Mrs. MacDiarmid took in tourists over the summer and was only too glad to have a lodger.

"Would I be able to pay you in chickens?" Rory inquired. Since the tourists were thinning out he was getting more and more chickens in his back run as payment for his services.

"That will be fine, doctor," Mrs. MacDiarmid said. "Three hens a week will cover it."

Before he left, he assured Colleen he would be over in the morning, as he didn't have office hours until after lunch the next day. Rory had been holding in his anger while he was dealing with Colleen. He wanted to go to England and throttle Robbie with his bare hands. He was kicking himself for keeping his own mouth shut for the last three years. He headed down the main street to the post office to send some telegrams.

Mrs. Lonogan was standing at the back door of the hotel late the next morning conferring with Mrs. Shay and Mrs. Donnelly.

"I've seen the post master cycle past with telegrams for him twice this morning," Mrs. Shay related. "I had to go out into the street to see where he was going. He went straight to the doctor's door he did."

"I saw the doctor leading that horse of his to Mrs. MacDiarmid's. He got some girl from there, put her on the horse's back and was leading it towards the beach. She was wearing a cotton dress and riding astride."

"No!" Mrs. Lonogan gasped. "I'll have to go to Mrs. MacDiarmid's and find out what I can. It might be hard. She is rather tight lipped."

Mr. Lonogan came rambling up the lane from the beach carrying his fishing rod and carrying a fish on a cord.

"Did you see the doctor and the girl?" Mrs. Lonogan demanded before he even had a chance to get to the door.

"Aye, that I did," Mr. Lonogan replied.

"Well, who was she?" Mrs. Shay and Mrs. Donnelly's ears were practically flapping.

"Can't rightly say. I was up on the rocks fishing for cod. They were on the beach going the other way. I couldn't run after them to find out, now could I?"

"Why not?" his wife demanded. "We want to know."

"From the looks of them, they were lost in conversation. We'll find out soon enough."

"What makes you say that?"

"They're walking up the street together as we speak."

"Positions ladies," Mrs. Lonogan instructed. "I'll go speak to him right now."

Mrs. Lonogan flew out front to see Rory coming up the street with a fair-haired girl on his arm. She was wearing a cotton dress topped with a coat and small hat. She looked to be around nineteen years old or perhaps a little younger. She was pretty but from her dress looked like a girl who lived on a farm.

"Hello, Mrs. Lonogan. I'm glad I've run into you," Rory said. "May I present Miss Colleen Drake from Yorkshire."

"Why how nice to meet you," Mrs. Lonogan said. "Are you enjoying your stay in these parts?" She was dying to ask more questions.

"Yes, very much thank you," Colleen flushed and held a little tighter to Rory's arm.

"I was wondering if Mr. Lonogan would have the time to pick up a passenger from the train this afternoon?" Rory inquired before Mrs. Lonogan had a chance to ask another question.

"Why yes I'm sure he could."

"It's a Mrs. Branson from Dublin. Somewhere around your age, short with strawberry hair."

"I'll tell him. How…?"

Rory was too quick for her.

"We must be off. I need to open the surgery at one. Thank you, Mrs. Lonogan."

You're quite welcome, Dr. Lester," she replied.

Rory and Colleen headed down the street and turned the corner. This was just too good. Mrs. Lonogan was just bursting to find her cronies and compare notes.

That morning Rory had been awoken with a knocking at the door. It was the post master with two telegrams for him. One was from the Drakes saying that Colleen's mother would be coming to Ireland and the other was a reply from Mrs. Branson saying she would be up on the afternoon train. He had thought it best to ask Mrs. Branson to come as having someone he could identify to the village as his aunt at the house would stop any tongues from wagging when Colleen was there. He had been too old when he broke with his mother for Tom and Sybil to legally adopt him. Their association was by mutual agreement and he identified Tom as his cousin when asked. The nature of their relationship was somewhere between older/younger brother or father/son although Tom was only eleven years older than Rory and Sybil three.

He had received a letter shortly after his arrival at Ballybunion from Tom to say they had decided to stay in England after all. Tom's first love was politics and he couldn't see himself in business. He had decided to take a job with the labor party and had made the move from reporter to press secretary. Sybil was busy working at one of the hospitals. Lauren their first hired girl had married a man from Brighton and was working in a sweet shop. Their current hired girl was also from Ireland and was thinking of returning home as she was suffering from homesickness.

Rory took his two telegrams, got dressed and headed down the street to collect Colleen. He took Realta with him on a lead and allowed the puppy to come along for some fresh air. Colleen had looked much better that morning after a decent night of sleep and breakfast.

"I thought we'd go for a walk on the beach," Rory told her.

"I'll just get my coat," Colleen replied. She was a true farm girl and usually managed to forget her hat from what Rory remembered. He'd boosted her up onto Realta and led the horse down the path to the sand beach.

"I've never been to the beach before," Colleen said. "It's so …pretty."

"Aye, 'tis. I got a telegram from your parents. Your mother is on the way."

"Oh Rory," Colleen tensed.

"They'd have been worried sick, so don't you oh Rory me," he replied with the ease of someone who'd spent part of their childhood together. "Tom's mother, Mrs. Branson is on the way as well. You've never met her. Your parents sent you away the day I broke with my mother."

"I remember you were dressed in your posh cloths. I was only little. I thought you looked like you belonged in the manor house."

"Hardly," Rory replied.

"What am I going to do?" Colleen said not looking at Rory.

They had reached the beach and Rory started walking away from the people he saw at one end. The puppy was running around chasing the gulls and having a happy time.

"You can stay here and marry me."

"Rory, I can't!" Colleen replied in surprise.

"Why can't you? I know I'm not good enough, but I'll treat you better than Robbie."

"Rory! You lived with Lady Sybil and her husband for the last two years in London. You visit with Earls and Countesses. You're a doctor. I'm just a farm girl."

"I wanted to ask you three years ago, but I held my tongue. I thought your family wouldn't approve of me. Do you remember when I first came from Ireland?"

"I remember you played with us in the yard and sang funny songs."

"I told your father I was in trouble with the police before I left for England, but there was more," Rory stopped walking and looked at Colleen directly. "My father was rebel and I was in the Irish Volunteers for a little under a year. The group I was in was more a faction that was into robbing and looting. Lady Sybil saved my life when I was shot. She sent me to England. When they moved back they became my family. I associate with her family and I stay with them because Tom Branson was raised four doors down from my family home. I'm not one of them. I'm someone they took in and finished raising. The Bransons are the only family I've got. Her parents just help me out from time to time."

"You never mentioned a thing."

"The boy you remember didn't exist before I arrived at your parents' farm. I've been crazy about you since the last summer I spent there."

"I thought you didn't like me like that. You kept avoiding me. All summer you barely spoke to me."

"I was trying to do the honorable thing. Your parents gave me a home and a job when I had none. I don't belong to the same church. How could I ask their daughter to be my girl and wait for me until I was finished school? I'm a country doctor. I get paid in chickens and eggs and the odd ham. The people around here leave me care packages on the doorstop. I'm not rich nor will I ever be. Marry me Colleen. Stay with me here in Ireland in Ballybunion and be a country doctor's wife with chickens and a vegetable garden in the yard and someone who loves you at your side."

Colleen looked down at Rory from Realta's back. "His eyes are so blue," she thought. "Our children will have eyes like his."

"You've always been my hero. I'll marry you. I don't care about church. I'll go to whatever church you want. I'm a farm girl, chickens and vegetables in the yard suit me perfectly well."

Rory reached up for her. Colleen slid off the horse into his arms.

"I'm no hero, just a messed up boy from Dublin who loves you."

"You'll always be a hero to me," Colleen said shyly before Rory placed his lips against hers.

His kiss was feather light as though he was afraid she would disappear like a puff of smoke.

"I'm not going to break, Rory," she said against his lips.

"I don't want you to ever feel anything like that boy put you through ever again."

Colleen curled against him.

"You aren't like him. I only accepted him because I thought I had no other choice. I didn't want to burden my parents."

"You're no burden," Rory whispered. He kissed her again, this time with a little more passion.

Realta had enough of waiting for them to move. He flicked his head and tried to pull the lead free of Rory's hand. When that didn't work he got a hold of Colleen's braid and gave it a good yank.

"Ouch," she said as she was jerked back. "You naughty pony!" She turned and whacked Realta on the withers with her hand. Realta put his ears forward and gave her his best "I wasn't doing anything" look.

"He's a bit of a devil," Rory said with a laugh. "Come we'll both ride back and I'll tell you about some of the tricks he's pulled."

He boosted Colleen back up onto Realta's back and jumped on behind her. The puppy came flying across the beach as they turned and headed back. Realta suddenly decided it was time to play in the surf and they both had to pull their legs up to avoid getting soaked. By the time they got back to the cottage and turned Realta into his paddock it was mid morning.

"We have just enough time to go and talk to the priest before I need to open the surgery."

"You're serious about this aren't you," Colleen said, still not quite believing the boy she had admired for so long was now a man and wanted her for his wife.

"Dead serious," Rory said.

By the time they had stopped to talk to the priest and were on their way back to Mrs. MacDiarmid's Rory had spotted at least half a dozen of the local busy bodies peering at them around their lace curtains.

"How am I going to plan for a wedding in six weeks time in a place where I don't know anyone," Colleen said when they were leaving the church.

"You don't have to worry about it," Rory replied. "The local's have already started. We'll ask Mrs. Lonogan to be in charge. She'll be in her glory."

"But I don't know any of these people."

"You will," Rory replied with a huge smile. He stopped and kissed her in the middle of the village. "Sooner than you think."


	25. Do You Know What Love Is?

Do You Know What Love Is?

The only word on the telegram Mrs. Branson had received from Rory was, "Come." She had packed her bag, closed up the house and been on the train the next morning. All of these years later she still received a payment deposited directly to her bank account from Tom's father. She strongly suspected the man had forgotten all about her and his son. Some clerk shuffling papers in a bank made the payments automatically. Whatever the case, she had sufficient funds to be able to go when one of her boys called. After eight years Rory was her unofficial nephew and as close to her as if he were her own child.

When she got off the train a man approached her and identified himself as Mr. Lonogan. It wasn't long and they had set off for Ballybunion.

"How long do you plan on being in these parts?" Mr. Lonogan asked her by way of making conversation and of course getting a little information.

"As long as Rory wants me here I suppose," Mrs. Branson answered. "When one of my boys calls me, I go."

"Are you his Mam then?

"No, I'm his Auntie."

"Oh I see. A girl arrived yesterday from Yorkshire. A Miss Drake."

Mrs. Branson didn't reply.

"Folks around here are most anxious about our young doctor. We were without one for over a year. Right now he's the only one for two towns and almost twenty miles in every direction. We wouldn't want a family crisis to cause him to leave."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Mrs. Branson replied. "Rory said in his last letter how much he likes it here. He's a country boy at heart even though he was raised in the city."

"Good to know," Mr. Lonogan said. "Everyone is right fond of Dr. Lester. That horse of his is a legend in these parts. Not a family he's been to doesn't have a story or two about that animal."

Mr. Lonogan kept Mrs. Branson amused with stories of Realta's exploits the rest of the way to Rory's cottage.

"Now you watch yourself or that horse will have your hat in a second if you don't keep it under lock and key," he said as he dropped Mrs. Branson off.

"I'll keep that in mind," Mrs. Branson said. "Now how much do I owe you?"

"The ride is on the house. I'm just hoping you find everything in order. Cheerio."

Mrs. Branson took her bag up the walk. She looked out at the view from the front yard. "It's a lovely spot. No wonder he likes it here so much," she thought. Just the sight from the front of the cottage made her feel less apprehensive. She was worried about what she was going to walk into. The waiting room looked busy so she went around to the back of the cottage and entered the kitchen. A bouncing four-month-old puppy came flying to meet her yapping like mad.

"Harry stop it," Rory called from the hallway. He walked through to see Mrs. Branson. "Welcome and thank you for coming." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Rory, what's wrong. Why did you send for me?"

"Colleen Drake is here. It's a long story. I need you here to act as chaperone. We're expecting her mother in a few days. I can't explain right now. Colleen is about somewhere. She was going to make tea for you. I'll be done around five or so. Make yourself at home. Pick whatever room you want upstairs. The stairs are through here."

"I'll make do," Mrs. Branson replied. "You best get back to your business."

Once Rory headed back to work Mrs. Branson looked around the kitchen. There was a tray of scones waiting to go in the oven and the tea things were laid out. She looked out the back door and noticed the notorious horse Mr. Lonogan had told her about wasn't in the paddock. She made her way upstairs and picked out a room that looked out towards the ocean. She went back down and was just getting out a hoe to take care of some of the weeds in the vacant flowerbeds around the cottage when Colleen came down the lane riding bareback.

"Hello. You must be Mrs. Branson," she called with a smile. "I've just been to pick some blackberries for our tea. It took forever. This horse of Rory's is so naughty I had to tether him on the other side of the bush to stop him from steeling the basket."

"Hello, and you must be Colleen. Come in child and tell me why you're here and what's going on. Rory gave me a terrible fright when he sent for me."

Colleen handed her basket down to Mrs. Branson and then put Realta in his pen. She locked the gate securely then removed his bridle. "I'm not giving him the chance to get up to anything," she told Mrs. Branson. "Rory is too soft hearted with animals. He lets them get away with everything."

The women went in the house. Colleen put the berries on to cook to make a jelly to go with the scones. She offered Mrs. Branson a cup of tea. Colleen had a worried look that bellied her friendly attitude. Once they were seated at the table Mrs. Branson gently reminded her that she needed some type of explanation as to what was going on.

"My parents and I had a terrible row. They were insisting I marry a man in the village. He wasn't a kind man. I got terribly upset and ran off. All I could think of was how much I wanted to see Rory. I came straight here."

"Running off was foolish, dear." Mrs. Branson wasn't trying to be cruel but she did think running away from home was no answer. Colleen was avoiding telling her something that much was obvious.

"I couldn't see any other way," Colleen said.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Well, I'm here now, we'll get this settled. Where did you stay last night?"

"Rory's been a perfect gentleman." Colleen broke out in a huge smile of adoration. "I'm staying with Mrs. MacDiarmid in the next cottage up the road." She got up to stir the berries, then took the pot off the heat and put them through a strainer. The scones went into the oven.

"You're fond of him then?" Mrs. Branson's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Very. More than fond actually," Colleen blushed profusely.

"I think I'll go outside and work off some of the kinks from the train," Mrs. Branson said. There was obviously more going on than Colleen was letting on. She knew the look of a young girl in love. She would wait for Rory to get the real story out of him. "At least this one isn't from an aristocratic family," she thought to herself. "What is it with my boys and Protestants?"

When Rory came through finally they had scones and the blackberry jelly Colleen had made. The way the two young people were gazing at each other Mrs. Branson knew there was something more going on. She was waiting to get Rory alone for a full explanation.

They walked Colleen back to Mrs. MacDiarmid's that evening and then continued along the road towards the village for an evening walk.

"All right, Rory, out with it. What's really going on?" Mrs. Branson asked him.

Rory sighed and told Mrs. Branson the whole story. She had heard enough of the dirt of his own life that he didn't leave anything out.

"The poor girl," she said, "but are you sure marrying her is the right decision. I can't see folks around these parts accepting an English, Protestant as your wife."

"She's going to convert. We've already talked to the priest. We can be married in six weeks. She doesn't need her parent's permission, but we would like it. I'm kicking myself for not speaking up sooner. It might have prevented all of this."

"It might have and it might not. There's no use second-guessing yourself now. How do you think her family is going to take the news?"

"I don't know. They want her married. That much is obvious. I thought I knew them. They were so understanding with me, but not with her."

"It's different when it's your own and with a girl."

"I'm hoping her mother will be happy with the news."

"And if she's not?"

Rory just shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I won't let her go back and be forced to marry that man. I think the town's people will accept her. We'll have a big wedding in the church and have the local busy bodies arrange everything. The one thing about the country folk is they love to be in each other's business. It will give them something to talk about all winter."

"You're going to have to be careful of your reputation."

"That's why you're here, Auntie," Rory said with a twinkle in his eye.

"When are you planning to announce your engagement?"

"As soon as her mother arrives. We'll tell them we had a lover's quarrel and broke things off before I left England. She reconsidered and came to find me. They shouldn't question the story."

"The town's people are worried you'll leave."

"No fear of that. I like it here and I'm doing something that's needed."

"Let's just hope her mother is understanding. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I've been hurt before."

"That's what worries me."

The day Mrs. Drake was due to arrive Rory had rearranged his office hours so that he could be at the train to meet her. An hour before he was set to leave there was a message there had been an accident at a local farm and could he come immediately. Rory had arranged to borrow Mrs. MacDiarmid's cart. It was arranged Mrs. Branson would go in his place and Colleen would wait for her mother at Rory's cottage. Mrs. Drake would be staying at Rory's as well.

"It's a good thing I've got so many chickens," Rory had told Mrs. Branson. "Colleen can stay at Mrs. MacDiarmid's as long as she likes." In fact Rory had at least thirty hens and they were producing so many eggs Mrs. Branson was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with them all. Colleen had proven a great source of knowledge in the kitchen as she was used to country life and had a knack for thinking of ways to use what was on hand. She had taken Mrs. Branson berry picking the day before and put up preserves for the winter.

"Mrs. MacDiarmid told me there are wild cranberries close by, they call them bilberries. I'll have to find some of them as well," she happily informed Mrs. Branson. "Once I get on to things, I'm sure I can trade away the eggs and things we get too much of or sell them. Rory and I won't have any problems."

Mrs. Branson arrived a few minutes before the train pulled into the station. She wasn't looking forward to the meeting later today with Mrs. Drake and her daughter. She would have liked to say a few things about forcing a girl to marry a man who had forced himself on her but planned to keep her own counsel. The best thing right now was for Colleen to stay with Rory. Hopefully, she would patch the holes that Mrs. Branson suspected he still had in his heart.

Mrs. Drake stepped off the train looking haggard and worn. The worry hadn't been easy on her and the trip had taken its toll.

"Mrs. Branson, where is Colleen? Is she safe?"

"Colleen is fine," Mrs. Branson replied. "She's at Rory's preparing something to eat for your arrival. Rory would have come himself but there was an emergency. He's had her staying with a neighbor. She's well looked after."

"Oh thank heavens. We were so worried when she ran off."

"At least she had the good sense to go straight to Rory and stay out of trouble."

"She seems to have no sense these days."

"Did any of us at nineteen?"

"I already had her by then and another on the way."

"Things will work out," Mrs. Branson said. "Rory has a lovely cottage with a view of the ocean. He's doing quite well."

"He was off with those Lords and Ladies for so long, I'm still surprised he's in the country. I keep thinking he will tire of it and go back to the city."

"He loves the country. He has you to thank for that. He's happy as a lark as a country doctor."

"Rory was always too bright for a farm hand, but he's good boy."

"He's no boy anymore."

"I suppose you're right," Mrs. Drake replied.

Colleen came out to the front of the house to meet them when they pulled up.

"Hello, Mummy," she said a bit sheepishly.

"Colleen," her mother said as she got down from the cart and wrapped her daughter in a hug. "I'm so relieved to see you are alright."

"I'm fine, Mummy. Rory is making sure I'm taken care of. He isn't back yet."

"I'll just go return the cart," Mrs. Branson said.

"I have the tea ready," Colleen replied.

"I'll be back in a minute," Mrs. Branson told them.

Colleen took her mother's bag.

"You'll be staying here with Rory and Mrs. Branson. Come in the kitchen. Isn't it pretty here?"

"It's lovely," Mrs. Drake paused. "Colleen, I want us to leave for England tomorrow. Your father isn't finished with the harvest there is still lots to do."

"No, Mummy! I'm staying here with Rory. I'm not going back."

"Colleen, don't be ridiculous. You can't stay here with Rory. You've imposed on him long enough."

"I'm staying here and marrying Rory. You can't make me leave. I won't!" Colleen's eyes were snapping in anger at her mother. She stamped her foot in defiance.

"You're being childish," Mrs. Drake said. "This isn't some kind of childish fantasy where you marry your charming prince. Real life isn't like that. He's a doctor and you're a farm girl. He won't marry you."

"He asked me and I've said yes," Colleen replied. "Why wouldn't he want to marry me?"

Just then Mrs. Branson came rushing back to the yard. She had spotted the mother and daughter having what looked like a heated discussion from the neighbors. She had gotten back as quickly as she could.

"Ladies, there is no sense in arguing in the yard for all the country side to watch. Let's go in the kitchen," Mrs. Branson said.

The women entered the kitchen and hung up their coats and hats to let the air clear for a moment.

"Did you know about all this?" Mrs. Drake asked looking at Mrs. Branson.

"Rory told me everything the day I arrived. He's determined to marry Colleen, so he says."

"Colleen, how are you going to associate with those fancy friends of his? You know he's stayed with Lord and Lady Grantham more than once. You can't go there. How can you be a proper wife to him?"

"Mummy, Rory doesn't live in a fancy house. This is a cottage by the sea with chickens and a dog. He lives in the country. If his fancy friends come to visit, we'll make do."

"And what about the people in the town? The doctor's wife is someone to be looked up to. Do you think they'll accept a milkmaid from Yorkshire? One that lifted her skirts for a boy in the barn?"

"Mummy, I didn't," Colleen almost screamed. She jumped up and bolted out the door.

"That was a terrible thing to say," Mrs. Branson rebuffed Colleen's mother before she got her coat and headed out to find the girl. She could just see Colleen's bright blonde hair moving through the rolling dunes towards the beach. The clouds were starting to gather and it looked like it would rain at any second. Mrs. Branson hurried after her.

"Colleen, come back," she called. Colleen just kept running. Mrs. Branson could hear the sobs across the dunes. By the time Mrs. Branson found the girl almost half an hour had passed. The rain had let go and was coming down in driving sheets.

"I didn't, I didn't," she sobbed as Mrs. Branson held her.

"There, there, of course you didn't," she said. "You'll be a fine wife for my boy. Come now we have to go back in where it's warm."

Colleen finally got to her feet and headed back to the house. She was trembling uncontrollably by the time she got back. Mrs. Branson got her out of her wet cloths and dressed her in one of her own nightgowns. She wrapped the girl in a blanket and was toweling her hair when her mother finally put in an appearance.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Drake said quietly. "I was taking my own problems out on you and I shouldn't have."

"I didn't, Mummy. Why can't you believe me? Robbie forced me. It was awful."

Colleen's teeth were still chattering. The kettle finally came to a boil and Mrs. Branson moved to make some tea. She set a cup in front of Colleen and took out her own hair so it would dry.

Mrs. Drake finally spoke. "Your father… cheated on me. I saw him in the barn with the other woman. She was pretty and well dressed and everything I'm not." She paused for a moment. "I was with your father before I should have been. I got pregnant and we were married soon after. My life has been hard with too much work and not enough time to think about hair and dresses and looking pretty. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"I only accepted Robbie because I didn't want to be a burden," Colleen said. "I loved Rory the whole time, but I though he didn't like me. I want to marry him and be a good wife. He loves me too."

"Do you even know what love is?" Mrs. Drake asked her daughter.

"Maybe the question is, Do you?" Colleen replied.


	26. Getting Approval

Getting Approval

The torrential rain kept up the rest of the afternoon and lasted until the early hours of the morning. It was raining hard enough Colleen didn't attempt to make the short trip back to Mrs. MacDiarmid's.

"Rory will have the good sense to stay put," Mrs. Branson declared. She sent Colleen up to sleep in Rory's room for the night. "No one in the town will say a thing with your mother and his Auntie here," she declared. "Everyone will know where he's been anyway, if I don't mistake the gossip chain in these parts."

By morning the rain had stopped. Colleen's cloths were dry enough she made her way back over to Mrs. MacDiarmid's to get cleaned up and a fresh change of cloths. Rory showed up a bit later, looking worse for wear and splattered with mud from the open countryside. Mrs. Branson stepped outside for a moment to let him know about the events of the previous afternoon.

"So, it's settled then," he said. His concern for Colleen was obvious.

"I think so. Her mother finally understands. She does have some legitimate concerns but she didn't voice them well. A few words from you should still them."

"Very well, then," Rory said. "I'll just go and see Colleen first."

Rory was back in a few minutes.

"Colleen's busy getting cleaned up. Hello, Mrs. Drake. It's nice to see you."

"Rory, you're looking well, if a little tired. You're not working too hard are you?"

"Hard enough to stay out of trouble," he said with a grin. "I'll just go and get cleaned up. I don't have any hours today. Unless there's an emergency I'm free all day. We can talk when Colleen returns."

He grabbed the kettles of hot water Mrs. Branson had waiting for him on the back of the stove and headed off to the washroom for a bath. An hour later Rory headed over to retrieve Colleen. It was market day and a perfect time to introduce her to the locals and the people he now considered friends. They entered the kitchen hand in hand.

"I'd like your permission to marry your daughter," Rory asked Mrs. Drake. "I'll treat her well and take good care of her."

"Of course you will, Rory. I just hope you've thought this through," Mrs. Drake replied. "Where are you planning on getting married?"

"We can be married in six weeks here in the village church. We'll invite the entire town and anyone who wants to come from the surrounding villages. It will be an event."

"I only saw one church when we drove through town yesterday," Mrs. Drake said.

"That's right," Rory replied. "We'll be married there."

"I'm going to convert, Mummy," Colleen said quietly.

Her mother sat down with a flop on a chair.

"We'll be living in Ireland. People in these parts are Catholic, like Rory. It will make things easier," Colleen continued.

"You two seem to have everything worked out," Mrs. Drake said. "I can't stop you. You go right ahead."

"Mummy, please. Try to be understanding."

"Colleen is right," Rory contributed. "People around here are suspicious of anyone who isn't Catholic. There are lots of tourists here so they are more accepting of the non-Irish than in other places. If we get married in the church everyone will accept Colleen. They're good people round here. It will work out with or without your permission."

"You seem to have thought this through. If its what you really want, then fine you have my permission. I don't know what your father will say."

"Hopefully, he will be happy for us," Colleen said.

"I want to go introduce Colleen, you and Mrs. Branson around today. The town's people will be excited at the prospect of a big wedding with out of town guests. It's off season for tourists. They'll be so happy that they will have business for the hotels and guesthouses they'll forget Colleen is English. If they think you're happy about the wedding, it will go a long way."

"And just how are you planning to orchestrate such a large affair?" Mrs. Drake inquired.

"That's easy," Rory said. "The town's people will do it."

"Colleen doesn't have the cloths and fancy manners to pull something like this off," Mrs. Drake was still skeptical.

"We'll write to Lady Sybil. She'll raid her sisters cast offs and Colleen will have more than enough cloths in the blink of an eye. Manners are more a state of mind than anything else. The crowd from England will be happy I'm marrying someone I love and loves me back."

"You can't mean to invite the nobility!" Mrs. Drake said.

"Why wouldn't I?" Rory questioned her. "At least the ones that had a hand in raising me and my education. Plus I have friends from medical school. Now everyone get ready and we'll head into town. If you can't be happy don't come."

Rory was getting irritated but at the same time was looking forward to shutting down all the questions he was getting about his sweetheart from across the water. It wasn't long and the four of them were headed into town. Mrs. Branson was carrying a basket for some shopping. It was late fall and there would still be winter produce coming in from the farms. Rory's bachelor larder needed stocking if she would be staying for the next six weeks and cooking for the three of them.

It wasn't long before Mrs. Shay, Mrs. Donnelly and Mrs. Lonogan came bustling up the street together and stopped right in front of them.

"Doctor, how nice to see you and your guests in town," Mrs. Shay said.

"Hello ladies," Rory said. "I'd like you all to meet my fiancée Colleen Drake from Yorkshire, my Aunt Mrs. Branson from Dublin and Colleen's mother Mrs. Drake."

"How do you do? It's very nice to meet you all," Mrs. Donnelly said.

"Oh never mind all that Aoife," Mrs. Lonogan shushed her. She had too many unanswered questions and now was her chance. "You told us all you didn't have a sweetheart, doctor and now you do."

"I didn't when I first arrived," Rory said. He was trying not to laugh. "Colleen and I had something of a lover's tiff and broke things off. She reconsidered and came to find me. My Aunt has come up to stay until the wedding to help out."

"Are you getting married here?" Mrs. Shay asked.

"Yes, we are. We've already talked to Father O'Bierne. The wedding is set for six weeks from now. We want to invite everyone from the town and the surrounding villages. As well, we'll be inviting family and friends from England. We wanted to ask you, Mrs. Lonogan to orchestrate things for us and help Colleen out with the planning. Show her the ropes around here if you might?"

Mrs. Lonogan flushed with the honor the doctor was bestowing on her.

"Oh yes, I'd be happy to. Everyone will be so excited with the news. There is so much to plan and so many people to tell. Will you be staying until the wedding Mrs. Drake?"

"No, I'll be leaving tomorrow to return home. My husband is just finishing up with the harvest. We'll be back up for the wedding," she said with a smile. She was forcing herself to put on a good front for her daughter's and Rory's sake. She was coming around a bit and with these women's obvious excitement she was feeling a bit of relief that her daughter would be accepted in their midst.

"You ladies must come round to tea later today," Mrs. Lonogan invited. "We'll have to get the planning underway right away. My friends and I will get everything under control. Don't worry about a thing."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lonogan," Colleen said. "We'll be happy to accept."

"Yes, I'd like to get to know more of my nephew's friends and neighbors," Mrs. Branson contributed. "I'd best get on with some shopping. I need to fill Rory's larder. You know how bachelors are I'm sure."

"Oh yes of course," Mrs. Donnelly chimed in. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll take care of it."

"Until later ladies," Rory said as they took their leave from the three locals. The three ladies were busy chattering and planning in the middle of the street already.

"Now you've done it," Rory told Mrs. Branson with a laugh. "I can't wait to see what shows up."

"What ever do you mean?" she replied quizzically. "I do need to do some shopping."

"Just wait and see," he said with a chuckle.

The shopping took quite a long time as absolutely everyone they came across stopped to be introduced to Dr. Lester's fiancée and "company". The word about the wedding was spreading like wildfire through the town and people were excited. It was teatime by the time they were finished. Rory dropped the ladies off at Mrs. Lonogan's and took Mrs. Branson's basket to carry back with him. He arrived home to find three crates with an assortment of vegetables, sausages and bread on his back doorstep. He put away the groceries then took his fishing rod and a sandwich and headed to the cliffs for an hour or two of Cod fishing in the company of his dog.

Colleen, Mrs. Branson and Mrs. Drake weren't prepared for the group that greeted them when they arrived at Mrs. Lonogan's. Half a dozen ladies were assembled in her parlor all busy chatting up a storm. They had all kinds of questions and already had decided who would be baking the cake and where the reception would be held.

Colleen smiled widely and flushed and fluttered every time Rory's name was mentioned. Her standard reply became, "whatever you ladies think is best," when asked about her opinion on their decisions. She was obviously in love, which won over the hearts of the ladies in the room quickly.

"Now dear, since you're from England we have to ask are you Catholic," Mrs. Lonogan inquired. Mrs. Drake tensed slightly at the question.

"I'm converting. I meet with Father O'Bierne tomorrow," Colleen said happily.

"Oh how lovely," one of the ladies chirped up. "You won't have any trouble around here in that case."

Mrs. Drake finally relaxed and began to get into the mood of planning a wedding in earnest.

Mrs. Branson took over when the topic of the bride's trousseau came up.

"My daughter-in-law's sisters both married well. I'm sure both of her sisters will have all kinds of clothing to contribute they are no longer in need of," Mrs. Branson said. "Colleen will be well outfitted as befits a doctor's wife."

Her comment got a chorus of approving nods. These ladies all worked and contributed to their households. Wasting money on frivolous items wasn't in their scope of approval.

"Yes, how sensible," Mrs. Lonogan agreed. She was so obviously the leader of the pack in the small town that all the other heads nodded in agreement when she gave her approval on something.

By the time the ladies headed back to the cottage it was late and they were worn out from meeting so many of the town folk and all the planning. They arrived to find Rory chopping potatoes for fish and chips.

"I caught two Cod while you ladies were at tea," he said. "Wait until you try fish that is this fresh."

Mrs. Branson was carrying a jar of honey that had been left on the doorstop. She stopped and stared when she opened the door to the pantry. The shelves were stuffed.

"Rory, where did all this come from," she asked incredulously. Colleen and Mrs. Drake went to see what she was looking at.

"You mentioned in town that my larder was less than satisfactory. The town folks are generous. You won't have to shop the rest of the time you are here."

"You were right about this place," Colleen said dashing over to slide her arms around Rory's waist. "I love it here already."


	27. Darkness

Darkness

It was two weeks before the wedding and it hadn't stopped raining for three days. The weather finally cleared off and Mrs. Branson took the opportunity to go into the village and visit one of the women who was going to show her a new knitting pattern. Tom and Sybil weren't expected until the next day. Colleen didn't have much to do at the cottage. Rory wouldn't be done until at least five. She decided to take Mrs. Lonogan three-dozen eggs. Even with Rory's family arriving the next day they still had more than they could use. Realta was dancing in his paddock after being so long confined. After she dropped off the eggs she would take him to the beach for a run.

Colleen rode Realta down to the village and spotted Mr. Lonogan outside of the hotel. She handed off the eggs and chatted with him for a few minutes before heading to the beach. There were quite a few overnight guests expected for the wedding and the Lonogan's were busy coordinating who would stay where as well as every detail for the big day. Rory had included a note with the invitations to his friends in England telling about the fishing available in the local countryside. A number of them were coming and extending their stays a few more days to take advantage of the local sights. Mrs. Lonogan, Colleen had learned was the town general. She had her minions baking pastries, displaying the gifts that had been arriving in the hotel parlor and preparing the town hall for the reception plus a number of other chores she had thought up.

Colleen gave Realta a good run. She had been working with the horse to try and correct some of his behavior and he had improved slightly. He had stopped trying to steal her basket at every opportunity and trying to chew her hair, but he still couldn't be trusted not to steal any hat that came within reach of his teeth. She kept him on the beach for a good hour before they headed back through the dunes to the cottage.

Rory came out of the cottage with an angry look on his face the minute she came into the yard.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Exercising your horse. What's the matter?" Colleen replied.

"You can't just go riding off. You should have left a note. I have an emergency. I've been looking for you for the last forty-five minutes."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"Well, think about it next time," he snapped as he threw the saddle bags he used for his medical supplies onto the back of the saddle buckled the straps and dashed out of the yard. Colleen watched him go across the fields jumping the fences and pushing Realta to top speed until he was out of sight. A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek.

Rory's work was not something she could contribute to or even understand really. He worked so hard and such long hours she wished there was something she could do to help other than tend the animals and cook and clean. The longer she was here the more she wondered if her mother was right. What business did a milkmaid have marrying a doctor?

Colleen went inside and took a dust cloth through to Rory's office. She had wanted to give it a good going over for sometime. When she looked at the files piled everywhere, she sighed. He was still just as messy as when he was seventeen. She set about dusting the room, washed the windows, polished the furniture and swept and washed the floor. By the time she was done she thought the room looked much better. Mrs. Branson was back and they set about getting the evening meal ready.

Four hours after Rory left he was back and calling Mrs. Branson and Colleen to come outside. When they went out, he had two children on Realta's back with him. A little boy of about five or six was on the saddle in front of Rory and a girl around eight behind the saddle. Rory's face was set and angry as he handed the children down to them.

"Give them something to eat," he said. "The boy is Liam, the girl Sarah. I'll be back once I've attended to some business."

He wheeled the horse around and headed into town. The two children were dressed in rags and looked like they didn't receive regular meals. They stood close together and stared at the women.

"Come inside and we'll get you something to eat," Colleen said softly.

"Is she a witch," the girl asked Mrs. Branson in Irish.

"No, of course not Sarah. Speak English so Colleen can understand you. I'm Mrs. Branson."

"We don't speak English," Sarah replied in Irish. "My Mam says English ladies are witches."

"I'm quite sure Colleen isn't a witch," Mrs. Branson replied in Irish. "Now come in out of the cold."

They got the children into the kitchen. Mrs. Branson let Colleen know the children didn't know any English.

"Perhaps you could get them some bread and butter with jam," Mrs. Branson suggested.

She got the children's coats off and went to the cool room to get them each a glass of milk. Meanwhile, Colleen placed a plate in front of each child with a buttered and jammed slice of bread. They looked at Colleen with large frightened eyes while they devoured the bread. They were still watching her as they drank their milk. Mrs. Branson sent them through to the washroom to wash their hands.

Colleen went to the drawer and got some string, made a large loop and showed the children how to play string games for the next half hour. The children remained silent, but smiled slightly when they managed to make a new shape with the string. Rory arrived back in the yard and tended to his horse before he came in after fifteen minutes or so. He didn't make a move to kiss Colleen on the cheek as he normally would. He pulled out a chair and sat at the table watching the children. Mrs. Branson got up to get him a tea and something to eat. He finally said something to the children in Irish, got up without eating and went into his office.

"Go and talk to him," Mrs. Branson said to Colleen.

Colleen tapped softly on the door before she went in. Rory was sitting at his desk with a file in front of him busily writing notes.

"Rory?" she said.

"What is it?" he replied. "I need to get this done."

"I'm sorry I took Realta without telling you. Are you alright?"

"It wouldn't have made any difference. Next time just leave a note. I'll be alright eventually," he said finishing off what he was writing and placing the file on a pile. He sat back in his chair and held a hand out to Colleen. She crossed the room to put an arm around his shoulders when his arm slid around her. She noticed there was a paper on his desk with Certificate of Death written across the top.

"The children's Gran will be by for them in the morning hopefully. I had to get the local constable to go to locate her. They can't stay with their parents."

"You need to take care of yourself. Have something to eat. You're working too hard."

"If I don't see to these people who will?" he snapped.

"Rory! What's really wrong? You've been grouchy all day. I can't seem to do or say anything right for you today."

"I'm tired. Can't we leave it at that?"

"Fine, but you need to eat. Mrs. Branson made your meal and it's getting cold. When you've had a decent nights sleep and are feeling better we can talk then."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. His face was sullen. She hadn't seen him like this since he was young and first working on the farm.

"That's too bad, because we're going to talk about some things tomorrow." Colleen said. She had dealt with her younger brothers enough times to know how to handle a bad mood. "For now I'm going back to Mrs. MacDiarmid's. The children will be fine with Mrs. Branson. You can come and get me if you need anything before morning."

That night Rory couldn't sleep. The situation he had found himself in that afternoon had brought back memories he didn't know he had. The house he had arrived at reeked of stale smoke. The parents of the young boy he had been called to see to had smelled of whiskey. They hadn't bothered to call for help themselves. A neighbor had seen the man hit his son and the boy fall to the ground. The parents had gotten into a fight and the mother had carried the boy of nine years old into the house. The neighbor had sent for the doctor. By the time Rory arrived it had been too late and the boy had died of what he believed was a hemorrhage on his brain. He had quickly examined the other two children and the partially healed bruises and old scars on their bodies had been enough to convince him they couldn't remain with their parents. He had summoned two of the men from the neighborhood to help him remove the children from the home, brought the children to the house and gone straight to the authorities.

When he closed his eyes he could hear the sounds of his own parents fighting in the kitchen and the voice of Emerald as she pulled him under the bed.

"We'll go here Rory. You can be a prince and I'll be a princess. We'll live in a castle and eat toffees all day," she had said. She had a packet of toffee hidden under the bed and split one with him. They had sucked their candies until the noise from downstairs had subsided.

Later once his sisters had all left home his mother would go on one of her drinking bouts and hit him with a broomstick across his back. Then she would sober up and apologize profusely making all his favorite foods and letting him do whatever he wanted.

It had all come back today when he challenged the people for their children. The beatings, the fights and the last time he had laid eyes on his mother. After two hours of tossing and turning, he got up and headed down the path to the beach. The moon was out and illuminated the beach and waves in a strange blue light.

"Who the hell am I?" he yelled at the waves as they crashed onto the shore.

"You are you," came a reply from behind him.

He turned to see Colleen standing behind him with her coat over her nightdress. She had been worried and unable to sleep. She had seen Rory heading for the beach and followed him down.

"Colleen," he breathed as she walked up to him. She didn't reach out to touch him.

"You're not doing anyone any good working this hard. You need to take time for you. The people here didn't have a doctor for a year and they survived." She stood looking at the waves.

"I have to take care of them."

"Why, because no one ever took care of you? I love you Rory. I want to take care of you, but you have to let me in. I keep thinking why would he need me or even want me and then I see parts of you that remind me of when we were children and I just know you need me as much as I need you."

"Today was difficult."

"Because someone died?" she asked looking up at him and touching his arm.

"No, I've had patients die before. The children's parents are drinkers. It brought back a lot of memories."

"You can't keep pushing yourself like this. When my mother was here I realized she was bitter from all the years of hard work. She never took any time for herself. Would it have mattered if the garden wasn't hoed everyday or the dishes weren't washed right after every meal? Her life has been spent taking care of others to the point where there is nothing left of her."

Rory pulled her close and held Colleen tight against him. "I love you," he said quietly before he kissed her.

"Will you let me help you someway, with your work? Maybe put away your files or something if it would help? I don't know what a doctor's wife is supposed to do."

"Listen to me complain," Rory teased her as he rubbed the side of his nose against hers.

"I already do that," Colleen teased him back. It was cold out as it was the middle of November and she was starting to shiver.

"Cold?"

"Uhuh," she breathed as his lips found hers once again.

"It's only a few more days," Rory growled against her mouth.

"Then the town is going to have to fight me for your attention," Colleen replied with her lips a fraction of an inch from his.

"It will be no contest," Rory pulled back and grabbed her hand. "They'll win every time!" he laughed.

"Oh, I'll get you," Colleen said with a laugh as they started to run back up the trail to the cottage.


	28. Guests

Guests

Tom, Sybil and their three children had arrived in Ballybunion and made themselves at home in Rory's cottage. Tom had taken two weeks off work and Sybil had arrived with two suitcases full of clothing for Colleen to decide on plus she had talked one of her sisters into loaning Colleen her wedding dress.

"Really Edith. What good is the dress doing hanging in a cedar lined closet until the day you die," Sybil had cajoled. Mrs. Branson had sent along Colleen's measurements when she asked Sybil to look into some clothing for her and from what Sybil could tell it sounded as if she would fit Edith's cloths perfectly.

The ladies in the town had been most anxious to get a first look at the new outfits Colleen would be wearing and were dying to see the wedding dress. Colleen wanted to keep it for a surprise for her wedding day and quickly made the few alterations needed.

"Rory, you're as messy as ever," Sybil had declared when she saw his office.

"And you're just as bossy," he had teased her.

"I wouldn't be so bossy if you didn't need it," Sybil had shot back with a laugh.

Sybil had enlisted Colleen's help to organize the files and place them back into the filing cabinets. Sybil never being one to leave well enough alone had shown Colleen the ropes of acting as a receptionist for the days when the office was busy.

"It's simple enough to put people's names on a list when they show up and find the files," Sybil had informed Rory. "It will make things run smoother. Colleen can send out reminders for the past due accounts. She needs something to do besides cooking and cleaning. It doesn't take any medical training."

"I have to admit it was easier in the city when all I had to do was see the patients and note their files. If Colleen doesn't mind doing it, I will be glad of the assistance," Rory told her.

Tom was kept busy through the days taking the two eldest boys to the beach and on fishing excursions. The youngest, a little girl was still too small for her brother's outdoor adventures and was happy patting dough in the kitchen with her Gran or being led around the village on Realta's back.

The children had each been given a few coins to spend in the shops in the village. Riordan, Tom and Sybil's eldest came out of one of the shops with an inexpensive straw hat, poked two holes in the top and put it on Realta's head.

"Riordan, why did you do that?" Colleen asked.

"I know why Realta is always stealing hats," he replied. "He wants to wear one too."

Colleen looked at the horse. Realta was standing patiently for once and not trying to steal every hat that passed by.

"Did you want a hat Realta?" Colleen asked the horse.

Realta nodded his head in assent. Colleen just rolled her eyes.

"It's most peculiar isn't it, the way those children have English accents but speak perfect Irish," Mrs. Shay told Mrs. Donnelly after Tom and Sybil had been down to the village one afternoon.

"And they all call the doctor "Bird". It's an odd family nickname don't you think?" Mrs. Donnelly replied.

"It's no stranger than the younger Mrs. Branson's fancy accent and manners when she speaks Irish."

Tom and Rory had managed to sneak out to the local pub one evening a few nights after the Bransons had arrived.

"I need to escape that hothouse of feminine emotion," Tom declared. "Sybil and my mother are planning to clean your house top to bottom before the wedding. They don't want Colleen having anything to do after the big day."

"I didn't think this wedding would get quite this out of control," Rory said. "Mr. Donnelly informed me the other day there would be "_tousands_" of guests. Although I think the real number is more like a couple hundred."

"It'll be fine," Tom reassured him. "The folk around here seem to be having the time of their lives with it."

"That they are," Rory agreed.

When they arrived at the pub, Mr. Lonogan questioned Tom as to his marital status, occupation, relationship to Rory and his preference of Ale or Guinness.

"Too bad you're not single. We have lots of girls of marrying age around these parts."

"You'll have to wait until next week for the single men to arrive," Tom replied. "From what I understand there are at least six eligible doctors arriving next week for the wedding."

Rory promptly kicked Tom under the bar. The men in the bar ears all pricked up.

"You don't say," Mr. Lonogan replied. "Maybe we could convince one of them to stick around these parts. We're a might short on doctors."

"I think they all have practices they are engaged in," Rory commented although he knew at least two of them were considering changing locations.

"Well, it can't hurt to introduce them to a few of the local girls," Mr. Shay chimed in.

"Oh good lord, here we go," Rory murmured to Tom. He was relieved when the men became distracted with a vocal game of darts between two rivals.

Colleen was nervous and fretting a few days before the wedding.

"Pre-wedding jitters, dear?" Mrs. Branson inquired.

"Pre-guest jitters," Colleen replied. "I never expected the Earl and Countess to attend my wedding and some of Rory's other friends are rather uppity as well. What will they think of me? I wouldn't know what to do or say."

"Practice," Mrs. Branson replied. "My son can fool the best of them. He says all it takes is practice."

Mrs. Branson called Tom down from the upstairs sitting room.

"Colleen wants to learn how to use a fancy table setting. Can you teach her this afternoon?"

"Of course we can," Tom replied. He got out almost every piece of cutlery in the house and set the kitchen table, then enlisted his sons to pretend to be footmen. "Just like at Grandpa's", he instructed them.

The boys got into the fun of playacting the parts of the butler and footmen and did imitations of the different servants at their grandparents. Colleen laughed so much at their antics she forgot to be nervous when Tom corrected her on a particular spoon or how to hold one of the utensils.

"Can you pretend to be Grandpa's butler, Da?" they both begged. Everyone was laughing so much Sybil wanted to know what was going on when she returned from town. She was the most practiced of all and became a perfect imitation of her now deceased grandmother.

Rory came through once he was done for the day and looked questioningly at the pile of cutlery on the table.

"How did you learn all your fancy table manners?" Colleen asked him.

"It wasn't too difficult. I watched Sybil's father and imitated every movement and mannerism. Most people have no idea I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm play acting the Earl the entire time."

Everyone burst out laughing.

"All these years we thought you were getting on to it all just fine," Sybil said. "You still are a little charlatan at heart."

"Maybe a bird that can change its feathers," Rory supplied with one quirked eyebrow.

Colleen's parents arrived the day before the wedding. Lord and Lady Grantham and Sybil's sisters and their husbands with a bevy of servants in tow arrived on the same train, as did Evelyn Napier and a large group of Rory's friends. The village was a hive of activity and the men were expected at Lonogan's that evening for Rory's bachelor party.

The doors to the hotel pub were standing wide open that evening when Tom and Rory arrived. The pub was already a hive of activity with the sound of singing spilling out onto the street. The pub was so full they had to squeeze their way through. Neither of them had made it more than a few steps into the room before a pint was stuffed into their hands. When Lord Grantham followed by his two other sons-in-law and Evelyn entered the pub the entire room stopped.

"This is the man who taught me how to fish," Rory called out. "Matthew here got a hook stuck in his arse last time we went fishing. Anthony is a farmer and Evelyn knows how to golf, by the way he's single."

The entire room erupted into sounds with the men having pints shoved into their hands and every local man wanting to be the first to tell them some yarn about a fish they'd caught or a difficult shot they'd made on the golf course.

"So the daughter of an Earl has been to tea in my wife's parlor," Mr. Shay said to Tom a while later.

"I'm afraid so," Tom said waiting for the negative reaction he had gotten so many times when he and Sybil had been living in Dublin.

"My wife will be overjoyed she finally has one up on Geoff Lonogan's Mrs. She's always bragging about having some French Viscount stay at the hotel a couple years back. It will make a grand tale to tell the tourists next year. Our young doctor doesn't have any other aristocratic relatives hiding under the door matt now does he?"

"No, my wife's the only one."

A while later Evelyn made his way over to Rory.

"I've been getting some of the oddest questions," he said. "Why did you tell them I was single?"

"You don't seem to be having much luck finding one on your own. I thought you could use a little help," Rory replied with a laugh, the local men around him starting laughing as well.

"How can announcing my marital status in a public establishment have any bearing on it?" Evelyn asked with a puzzled look.

"Tom is forever telling you to look in a different fish bowl. Ask me again tomorrow by the end of the day. There are toff girls in these parts, as well you know. Ireland does have them. The delivery is just a little different from what you're used to."

John Drake wasn't having any problems with the locals. He fit right in and was busy bragging about Rory and his many accomplishments. He had been overjoyed when he found out his eldest was marrying Rory and in his words, "moving up in the world."

"I can't believe there's not a car in the place," Tom complained to Matthew by the bar. "I don't know how he stands it."

"It seems like a nice place," Matthew replied. "It certainly has beautiful scenery."

"Scenery that would be improved with a car in it."

"What is it with you and cars?"

Tom now had two sitting in the garage behind the London house.

"They don't suddenly decide they want to wear a hat!"


	29. The Wedding

The Wedding

The train whistle echoed across the dunes forty-five minutes before the wedding was to begin. The train came to a halt at the small station on the outskirts of town. Around a hundred people got off the train and headed for the church. For the first time for as long as anyone could remember the train was actually on time. The driver, stoker and conductor got down and headed into town as well with the driver and stoker carrying a change of cloths for the festivities. There was a huge line outside the church when Rory and Tom arrived. Mr. Donnelly was outside welcoming everyone while Mr. Lonogan and Mr. Shay were busy getting people seated.

The minute Mr. Donnelly saw Rory and Tom approach he rushed over to greet them.

"What did I tell you? There's _thousands_ of 'em. They're coming from miles away," he exclaimed excitedly before rushing back to his post by the door.

Rory paled a little at the sight of such a huge crowd still waiting to be seated with the wedding set to begin in fifteen minutes. They went around to the side door where Father O'Bierne was waiting for them.

"We've got chairs in the side aisles and at the back," he said. "They're packing them in. We'll be down to standing room only before they're through." He was quite excited at the prospect of having so many people in the church.

Rory peeked out at the crowd and shut the door quickly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he said.

The crowd was huge. There were at least four hundred people in the church with more coming in. Some of the men were wearing morning suits as were Rory and Tom, others were in their Sunday best.

"That's quite the crowd," Nigel Morehouse said as he entered. He was a friend of Rory's from medical school and had agreed to answer any emergency calls for the next three days during his fishing trip so Rory could have them off. Today he was acting as a groomsman.

"Don't remind me," Rory groaned. "I hope I don't mess this up."

"You'll be fine," Nigel said.

"It will be over before you know it. Just think, you'll be legal after this," Tom said.

"You're no help," Rory squeaked. It was bad enough he was nervous about the ceremony. He didn't want to be reminded about the wedding night. His previous experience if you could call it that was sketchy at best. The group he had been involved with when he was a teenager had a few women who hung around them constantly. Prostitutes he now realized but at the time he had been too naive to realize what they were. The boys had bragged and swaggered and taken the women in a back room from time to time. One of the men had pushed him into a room with one of the women. She hadn't bothered to remove her cloths. She'd taken his hands and shoved them under her blouse and pulled up her skirts. Her breath had smelled terrible as well as other parts. To this day Rory wasn't sure if he'd got things where they were supposed to go. He'd done the deed as quickly as he could before he'd gotten away from her. When he thought about it he could still hear her laughter.

During medical school he'd been too busy to think about finding a sweetheart and everything that went with it. At one point during his residency he had been assigned to a ward of patients with the advanced stages of sexually transmitted diseases. He hadn't been able to get an erection for almost two months.

He wanted the day to go perfectly for Colleen and to give her a wedding night that would erase her previous experience from her mind. He'd been thinking about her constantly and what he would like to do with her but had kept the two of them well buffered with other people. His hands were shaking and his knees were wobbling a bit by the time Father O'Bierne came to tell them everyone was in their seats and they needed to take their places.

There were so many people in the church Rory couldn't look at them. He had his eyes glued to the door waiting for Colleen to enter. Once everyone was in place they were ready to begin. The procession of the priest and the alter boys entered the church first followed soon after by a piper. Colleen's two brothers and the two Branson boys came up the aisle next accompanied by Tom and Sybil's daughter and three girls from the local town. Two girls of about Colleen's age from the local town came up the aisle next. Finally Colleen and her father made their way slowly towards the front of the church.

The crowd gasped at the sight of Colleen in her elaborate gown. Her hair was twisted up into an elaborate configuration of braids and twists at the back. She carried a small bouquet of flowers from a green house at one of the country estates nearby laced with ivy and a small horseshoe that had been painted white attached to the bouquet. Once everyone was in position the doors to the back of the church were closed and locked. Rory lifted Colleen's veil and looked into her eyes. His nervousness faded away and he forgot the existence of the crowd.

When it came time to place the ring on her finger he retrieved the ring from the priest once it had been blessed and placed the traditional claddagh ring with a heart being held by two hands on her finger with the tip of the crown pointing towards her knuckle. He was smiling like a fool by the time they exited the church and were greeted with a shower of rice and the sound of the church bells ringing. Rory pulled his bride into his arms and kissed her for so long there were whistles and howls from the crowd.

"Wait till the reception's over," someone called from the crowd.

"You'll have the rest of your life for that," another called.

Colleen threw her bouquet into the crowd before they walked up the road to the town hall followed by the crowd of well wishers. Rory and Colleen were seated on a pair of chairs in the town hall and people came by in turn to pay their respects. Tables laden with food had been set up at one end of the room. The hotel was open to view the gifts and people poured through the doors of the hall. Drinks were given out, toasts made and speeches called for. The next order of business was dancing. A group of musicians struck up a tune and it wasn't long before the dance floor was packed.

"Remember to keep both feet on the floor," Colleen was told. "The fairies love a bride and like nothing better than to get under her feet on her wedding day."

The festivities continued all day and well into the early hours of the morning. The pubs along the street had opened and people came and went from the town hall all evening. At one point Rory could have sworn the crowd actually got bigger. When it was time for the bride and groom to leave, a large crowd accompanied them to the cottage singing songs and making noise. The racket kept up for a good half hour before the crowd headed back to the town hall for more partying.

"Mummy," came a loud wail from the sitting room where the three Branson children were sleeping. "Make the big noise stop."

Rory and Colleen could hear someone moving upstairs to settle the children, before a door closed and everything fell silent again. They still stood where Rory had set her down after carrying her over the threshold.

"It was a lovely wedding," Colleen said. They were both so nervous they were tongue-tied.

"I never thought there would be that many people," Rory commented. "Are you tired?"

"Not too tired," she said curling her self against him.

"Then lets go up," Rory whispered into her ear. He took her hand and led her up the stairs. They made their way quietly down the hall, as his family wouldn't be leaving until the next day. Once they were in the room he pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly at first then with more passion. Colleen's breathing was fast when the kiss ended. She quickly kissed Rory again before she moved to the dresser to remove the veil that was still pinned to her hair.

Rory came up behind her and held her waist, trailing kisses down the side of her neck while she removed the pins from her hair. Once it was free he turned her around and spread his fingers through her hair while he kissed her again. He tentatively slid his tongue into her mouth. When she moaned he deepened the kiss and explored her mouth. When he felt her return the gesture he pulled her closer and moved towards the bed. They lost their balance and fell onto the bed with Colleen on top of him. Rory was so busy reveling in the sensation of Colleen's kiss and the feel of her weight on top of him he didn't notice when the bed made a large screeching sound. Rory rolled onto his side so Colleen was lying beside him. The bed gave a massive groan before the frame fell apart and the mattress hit the floor with a loud bang. The both sat up in shock only to hear very loud laughter coming from the room next door.


	30. Home

Home

"I'm going to kill you Tom!" Rory yelled.

"Then you better kill me too and the rest of the lads," Nigel yelled. They could hear all of Rory's friends from medical school in the next room killing themselves laughing. It wasn't long and they could hear footsteps going down the stairs and the bang of the back door as his friends exited the house.

"I'm sorry they did that," Rory said. He was still lying on the collapsed bed with a hand over his eyes.

"Oh come on, Rory," Colleen giggled. "It was funny. Get up and fix the bed enough so we can sleep in it."

She hopped off the bed and started undoing the side closure on the elaborate dress.

"At this rate I'm going to be an old man before I get to be with my wife," Rory complained. He moved the headboard and footboard of the bed to lean against the wall under the window.

"No, you won't," Colleen reassured him. "Don't peek."

Rory took off his jacket, tie and waistcoat and laid them over a chair in the corner before his kicked off his shoes.

"Am I allowed to look now?" he questioned while he undid his cufflinks.

"Just a minute more," Colleen said. She turned down the lamp until it was giving off a faint glow in the room. Rory had his shirt unbuttoned.

"Alright, you can look now," Colleen said softly from just behind him.

Rory turned around to see Colleen in a pretty nightgown of fine cotton and lace. In the low light he could just make out the outline of her body. She stepped slightly closer and finished pushing his shirt off. Rory reached out to pull her closer. Instead Colleen took his hand and walked the few steps to the low bed. She sat with her legs curled under her in the middle of the mattress and pulled Rory down to sit on it with her. She reached out a hand to touch the fine blonde hair covering his chest and abdomen before she quickly drew her hand back.

Rory smiled slightly before he kissed her slowly. They had all night and there was no rush. When the kiss finally ended Rory laid back on one elbow. He reached for the tie at the neck on Colleen's nightdress and undid it. He slowly pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms, until she pulled her arms free of the fabric to allow it to pool around her waist. He stroked her small white breasts with the backs of his fingers, teasing over the nipples with a light touch. She sat watching the emotions play across his face until she leaned down and placed her lips on his.

The room was heated by a series of vents in the floors that allowed the heat from the stove in the kitchen to rise. Their room was directly over the kitchen and the lingering heat from earlier in the day made the room warm enough they didn't notice the chill and damp from mist gathering on the ocean.

His arms went around her as he drew her down to lie partially on top of him. The feel of skin on skin made both of them gasp and breathe a little faster. His hands slowly rubbed up and down her back until he reached the fabric still bunched at her hips. He pushed it lower until she reached down and pushed her nightgown off all the way.

Rory rolled Colleen to one side while he continued to kiss her. Her trailed his fingers over her breasts and followed them with his lips. Her hands explored his chest and back and stroked the side of his face as he returned to kissing her lips.

"Is everything alright so far?" he asked her quietly while looking down into her face.

Her response was a nod and shy smile as she placed a small kiss on his lips. He kissed her back deeply stroking her tongue with his until he moved to get rid of the last of his cloths. It was only a moment before he rejoined her on the bed. He slid his hand around one breast and pulled her nipple into his mouth rolling it around with his tongue. He took his time before he turned his attention to the other one. Her hands slid into his hair pulling him closer. He trailed little sucking kisses up her chest and collarbone until he reached her face again. He smiled slightly before he kissed her lips. Rory was fighting for control and not get too excited and embarrass himself. This night was for Colleen and he had to get this right for her.

Colleen was engrossed in the sensations he was giving her. Every tugging kiss at her nipples sent waves of sensation to her abdomen. She wasn't sure how to react to him. Rory was so gentle it was like being touched by a dandelion in bloom with a hardness and warmth wrapped up in it at the same time. She slid her hand across his chest and touched his one nipple. It was hard to her touch. She placed a kiss on it experimentally and was encouraged by his slight groan. She kissed the ridge of his collarbone and the side of his neck before she placed a kiss under his ear.

Rory was starting to get frantic at her touch. Six weeks of waiting had been torture. He rolled her onto her back and slid his hips between her legs. He kissed her lips and breasts not able to get enough. Colleen was getting to a point where she was no less frantic than him. He raised his head slightly.

"OK?" he asked her.

She nodded and threw her arms around his shoulders. If he didn't do something soon she thought she would burst with anticipation. He finally slid himself into her and began to move slowly. Colleen was surprised by the lack of pain. She moved tentatively and felt the sensation increase. She squirmed against him and was soon urging Rory to go faster. It wasn't long and they were panting and groaning against each other with a fine layer of sweat covering their bodies. She had curled her face into his neck. When her release finally came she threw back her head and arched her back with a strangled cry escaping from her lips. His body twitched and he pressed into her harder as his organism overtook him.

They lay in the same position for a while not moving and smiling at each other.

"I didn't know that it was supposed to be like that," Colleen said quietly.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked.

"No, you were quite lovely," she sighed.

"You're quiet lovely, yourself," he said with a foolish grin on his face.

Rory finally moved to blow out the lamp and then joined her under the covers. They fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms worn out from the events of the day.

The next morning they were up early, as they wanted to say goodbye to the guests from England who were leaving that day. While Colleen was braiding her hair she heard singing coming from the lane in front of the cottage.

"Hello, the house," someone called. "We've brought the gifts from the hotel." She ran to look out one of the front windows to see a cart piled with crates and four men from the local village. Rory and Tom were out the door to help them unload. Colleen spotted her parents coming to help from next door. She quickly finished dressing and ran down the stairs to see what was going on.

"We better pile everything in the sitting room upstairs," Rory was directing. There was a steady stream of people coming in carrying items. Colleen was trying to direct where to put everything but soon gave up as the pile of gifts would take some time to sort out. Even though it was morning everyone drank a toast to the newlyweds before the men headed back out the door to their regular work.

On the third day after the wedding the guests from England had all left. Colleen had looked into some of the boxes of gifts and realized it would take her days if not weeks to sort through it all and get things into their proper places. She easily had enough linens and doilies to do her for the next ten years or more. Two of Rory's doctor friends had been so taken with the golfing and prospect of the expanded golf course next year they had volunteered to fill in for Rory with working holidays if Rory and Colleen wanted to get away for a few weeks next summer.

The town's people had been overjoyed at the influx of overnight guests for the wedding. Every detail and minute of the day was being discussed and rehashed in the parlors and pubs with the tall tales growing bigger by the hour. Rory and Colleen had been down to the village the day after the wedding to thank the Lonogans.

"I'm surprised to see you out so soon after the big day," Mrs. Lonogan had said. "I would have though you two love birds would lock the door and throw away the key."

"We just wanted to come and thank you again for all that you did," Rory replied flushing slightly.

"It was nothing. It was good for the town and quite a few stayed on even though it is off-season. I've never seen the people around here so excited about a wedding. We should do this kind of thing more often."

"I don't know if my heart could take it," Mr. Lonogan chimed in. "After all those tourists the fish will be scared to take the bait. Won't be able to get a bite for weeks."

"Don't you ever think of anything besides fish and golf?" Mrs. Lonogan scolded him. "You never change one bit."

That afternoon Rory and Colleen were riding Realta along the beach. Colleen was sitting behind Rory with her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek against his back.

"Mrs. Connelly has some kittens. She promised me one," Colleen said.

"Why do you want a cat?"

"Oh, it would keep the mice down," Colleen replied. "I don't think a house is really a home without a cat to sit by the fire in winter."

"I've just realized this is our home. A real home, with a cat and a dog and neighbors who are our friends."

"And chickens in the yard, a horse that likes to dress up and a wife that loves you," Colleen said with a laugh as Realta nickered in agreement.

_The End_


	31. The Sequel

The Sequel to A Life That Matters is published under the title After the Bombs Fall. The story picks up shortly before the crash of 1929 and continues through the London Blitz. Thank you for reading and please look for After the Bombs Fall.


End file.
